


we lit the fire (and it's burning bright)

by InsertLogin



Series: they're teaching me to kill (who's teaching me to love?) [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Child death (mentioned), F/M, Gen, M/M, Mail Courier!Zuko, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, better to be safe than sorry, both romantic relationships are past here, cause it has the death of the 41st and while i don't think it's graphic, character death is for the 41st and minor chars, i put graphic violence but it's mostly just a warning for the first chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertLogin/pseuds/InsertLogin
Summary: Zuko was thirteen when the 41st Division was sent to die.A battle and several injuries later, he decides that treason sounds like a pretty good thing, actually.
Relationships: Ikem & Zuko (Avatar), Ikem/Ursa (Avatar), Jeong Jeong & Zuko (Avatar), Jeong Jeong/Piandao (Avatar), Jet & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: they're teaching me to kill (who's teaching me to love?) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862509
Comments: 98
Kudos: 276
Collections: 41st Division of the Fire Nation Army





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation of my mail courier!Zuko AU, so I recommend reading part one before this. Title from Burn Bright by MCR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in the tags, the first chapter has the battle where the 41st Division was killed, and while I don't think it's graphic, it's still war. So warnings for severe injuries, burns (as well as mentions of burning flesh), and death in general. Let me know if there are any content warnings you think I should add.
> 
> Edit: in order to make the military stuff more accurate (because turns out captains are only in charge of companies and also division are typically 10-15 thousand men), I added a few more paragraphs when Zuko is collecting the letters. There were no major plot changes.

Zuko was thirteen when he was sent to deliver a death sentence to the 41st Division.

He didn’t know that when he was delivering the letter. In his three years of serving as a mail courier, he had learned fairly quickly that reading official documents was something that should never be done. It was too hard to make the letters look like they had never been opened, and there were always severe consequences for even being _suspected_ of reading them. 

So, when he had to deliver yet another order to yet another group, Zuko didn’t even think about taking a peek. He only noted the destination and the stamp on it before setting out to deliver it. 

He traveled his usual hidden paths, carefully monitoring his speed so that he went by his usual quick standard, but not quick enough that brows would be raised. And, when the camp and soldiers came into view, he prepared himself for the usual stares. 

He had not expected to find himself staring back. Divisions were only out this far in the front if they were seasoned, and the 41st couldn't have been more obviously made of inexperienced recruits. 

And that… that didn’t make sense. The stamp on the letter, Zuko knew, was one that denoted mobilization. As a fresh division, the only places the 41st would be mobilizing to were either further into the front or back inland. Which was bullshit in either case, as the 41st would lose any battle they engaged in, and no one came back from the front without engaging in a battle first.

Zuko puzzled over it as he asked where he could find the captain, before remembering with a start that there _was_ an explanation for the situation: the 41st was going to be used as bait or as cannon fodder.

The 41st’s faces were still round and mostly clean. They had to just be recently deployed. Which meant they weren’t just recruits who hadn’t seen battle, but recruits who likely hadn’t been heavily trained. Zuko tried to swallow down the bile in his throat and shove the words _new_ and _inexperienced_ out of his mind. 

The nausea only grew as Zuko watched the captain’s face freeze while reading the letter. He tried to tell himself that the 41st weren’t couriers and that this wasn’t the three courier problem, but the fact that they _weren’t_ couriers made this worse, because people always cared more about couriers, and no matter how he tried to disguise it, this still followed that familiar format. 

Instead of three couriers being caught in the crossfires of a battle, it would be an entire division of soldiers. The main deviation would come with the fact that there would be no third courier in this situation, no not as seriously injured member or group, no one who would be forced to live. All the soldiers would play the part of the two seriously injured couriers, the two who were deemed as having more worth dead.

There was still Zuko, though, helpless and useless as the Fire Nation deemed him again and again as more useful alive. Which was really quite ironic, wasn’t it? Zuko was dead to everyone and everything and yet here, he wasn’t allowed to die. 

Zuko had no doubt that the 41st Division would die. He knew that theoretically, the expression on the captain’s face could be the result of a million different things, but the mobilization stamp was there for a reason, and the three courier problem wasn’t never about _which_ choice the Fire Nation would make, but the fact that it made it. 

Because the Fire Nation never chose to save, nor to completely kill. They chose a twisted sort of compromise when possible. 

The couriers they deemed useless would die to serve as tragedies and propaganda, and the courier that they deemed useful would live to serve the Fire Nation, but also as a tragedy in his own right and another reminded of the Earth Kingdom’s brutality. 

The division that would be better to sacrifice would be sacrificed, and then that would become a tragedy, a horror story about earthbenders. If any soldiers survived, then they would be kept alive, as long as they furthered the story.

The choice was never the problem. 

The problem was the fact that even though Zuko had _begged_ the medics to save the others, the others who were more seriously injured, the medics hadn’t fucking _listened_. They hadn’t even tried, even though they had more than enough supplies and personnel to take care of the other two. 

The problem was the fact that the Fire Nation spun the story as if it was all the Earth Kingdom’s fault, even though the Fire Nation had put these children here, even though the Fire Nation could have _saved_ them. 

The problem was the fact that the situation, like it was intended to, garnered pity, sorrow, and anger, but even more than that, it garnered patriotism, because if Courier Li could see such horrors and yet perform so well, then they could all aspire to be at least half as good citizens and soldiers. 

The _problem_ was the fact that life meant _nothing_ to the Fire Nation, and that if someone or a group of someones did more for the Fire Nation dead than alive, then the Fire Nation would let them die, if not directly kill them. 

The 41st Division didn’t have to be sacrificed. In that moment, Zuko knew that more than anything, because he also knew that there was another option that didn’t end in so much death. He also knew that it didn’t matter what he thought or knew, because the Fire Nation had already made its decision and nothing could change that.

The captain of this company of the 41st Division had either been a part of the war for a while now or had expected this, because as he finished reading the last military order he would ever receive, his face didn’t even fall. He, like Zuko, knew, and his face now just looked resigned. 

Zuko looked from the captain’s face to the soldiers milling around them, and then back to the captain’s face.

“I can take your men’s letters, sir,” he said. His voice was steady and calm, as if nothing truly was wrong. 

“Some of my men can’t write,” the captain said. 

“I can write and read.”

The captain looked at him for a long time, and for the first time since opening the letter, he seemed to see Zuko. “How old are you, boy?”

“I’ve been a courier for three years, sir.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“... Thirteen.”

The captain’s face didn’t fall, but Zuko didn’t need a facial cue to know what the captain was thinking. Most adults, regardless of rank, thought the same. No matter how many times he told them that he had been doing this for years and that it was experience that mattered, not age, no one ever forgot the fact that the youngest couriers tended to join at fourteen and the average courier joined at sixteen. 

They didn’t join at ten. Never at ten. 

Zuko wondered if that meant that he was some sort of prodigy. 

“Alright,” the captain said, letting out a long breath. “Alright, let’s get to it.”

In order not to waste too much time, the different companies collected the letters among themselves first. Those who could write would take care of the letters of their fellow soldiers.

Zuko’s hand still ached from writing, though. Some companies had too many soldiers who were illiterate, and so Zuko took his brush, ink, and paper, and wrote for them, marking down everything they had to say. Too many soldiers had no one to write to, and Zuko refused for them to die in obscurity, for no one to even realize they were gone. 

“It’s a part of protocol,” Zuko lied to their faces. He had never been good at it, but it wasn’t as if the soldiers would know what courier protocol was or wasn’t. “We need all soldiers to send some sort of letter.” 

He wrote most of those soldiers’ letters, letters that consisted of basic information and a dream. 

He didn’t cry while doing it. It would only upset the soldiers, he knew, and it wasn’t the first time he had taken down a soldier’s words, knowing those words would be the last before prayers for life or a quick death.

He came close, though. His mailbag was growing ever fuller and one soldier said to him, “You don’t need to take all of our letters, kid. There are too many to fit in that bag.”

Zuko didn’t respond. He just, with furiously shaking hands, pulled out a spare bag and stuffed his medical supplies, food, and water in it. He collapsed the slots for each of the letters, tearing some out even, doing _anything_ to make space. 

Calculations ran through his head, because one hundred letters without the envelopes could, when pressed, fit in the width of a finger. If he just pressed all the letters together, if he forwent envelopes and wrote the locations and names on the other side of the letter, if he carried all his other supplies outside of the bag, then they could all fit.

“Kid—” someone, either that same soldier or another, said and Zuko wasn’t sure how he had responded, if he had at all. He just knew that the soldier took a step back and for the rest of his desperate packing, no one interrupted him. No one commented as he staggered under the weight of the letters. No one said a word and Zuko just made his way from company to damned company, telling the captains and lieutenant colonels and general majors and any other military leader he encountered what was to come and that he would take their letters. 

“They won’t fit,” one of them said.

“They _will_ ,” Zuko just hissed back, trying to memorize this man’s face, only for it to fade when confronted with a horde of soldiers, of men and women, of adults and children. He tried not to think about the fact that he was already failing in the task of remembering them, and instead focused on fitting all the letters in. If he proved that man wrong, then anything could be wrong, and the fact that the 41st was going to _die_ could also be wrong. 

All the letters fit and as Zuko struggled under the weight of the bag, he knew that the 41st’s death would be wrong, but it would still happen. 

“You better be heading back soon,” the last captain told him once he had gotten steady. “We’re due to leave tomorrow and the onslaught may be quick.”

Zuko nodded but his eyes felt heavy and walking meant stumbling and stumbling meant that he would fall and get crushed. He needed to survive. He needed to get out for them. 

“Sir,” he asked, gaze directed at the ground, “is it safe enough to stay for tonight? I’ll leave when the sun rises.” 

The captain thought for a moment and then nodded. Zuko managed to make his way to an empty spot. He didn’t lie down, sitting down instead and leaning against the mailbag that was still strapped to his back. 

He had only a bit of trouble falling asleep. 

Zuko left a bit before the sun rose. He traveled by trails that were indistinguishable from the surrounding ground, trying to get away from where he thought the confrontation would occur and distinctly _not_ thinking about the 41st.

Perhaps he should have not thought of them harder, because one moment, his attention lapsed, and the next, the Earth Kingdom army was within view. 

Cursing internally, he scrambled up a tree, managing to get up and out of sight by the time the army came closer. 

The army, of course, chose the area to take a brief rest. Zuko couldn’t wait for them to pass. There was only so long he could hide in a tree, especially with a heavy mailbag and with his luck. Luck that would probably lead to one of the soldiers inevitably looking _up_.

As the army was putting down their packs, Zuko crept down the tree and, walking slowly as to not attract attention, retreated back the way he came. 

It wasn’t a good strategy in the long term, but if he tried to move around the army now, it would just keep him within view and possibly get him noticed and killed. He just needed to go back far enough for him to safely move out of the way. 

And then, he could move a lot more quickly, because if he moved quick enough, he would have to focus on moving and not _how_ the army managed to get in this position, because this was farther into the Fire Nation’s side of the front than any Earth Kingdom group had been in before, and if they were in, the Fire Nation divisions further out were either dead or they had left on purpose, which meant—

A sharp rock dug into Zuko’s foot and he stifled a gasp. He stumbled for a few moments, hopping around on his good foot before managing to gain a semblance of balance and stop. He reached for the bandage he kept on him and, after carefully digging out the rock and biting his lower lip hard to stifle any sound, wrapped it around his foot. Placing it back gingerly on the ground, he started walking again, though this time with a definite limp. 

_That_ was why he needed to pay attention. _That_ was why he couldn’t think of the mechanics of the 41st’s death, why the three courier problem had to exist, or why this war was even happening at all. 

His luck was bad enough when he had his mind on matters. 

He had better not make it worse by focusing on questions he would never be able to solve. 

Perhaps whether he thought about the incomprehensible or not didn’t matter, because despite not thinking about those questions even more than he had not thought about the 41st, Zuko still ended up in the middle of a battle. 

The worst part, Zuko thought, wasn’t that he didn’t have armor, but that he didn’t have _shoes_. Couriers didn’t often have them, and Zuko preferred to go barefoot anyways, both out of habit and the fact that he could grip surfaces better and walk more silently this way. Battles always made him reconsider his preference, especially when one of his feet was throbbing from having been lightly stabbed by a rock and when there was an army of earthbenders hellbent on destroying anyone wearing the fairly noticeable colors of the Fire Nation. 

The 41st Division wasn’t helping. He knew they were new, he knew that they were out of their depth, he knew they were sent to die and had probably realized it, but as he ducked under fire and dodged earth, he hated them the tiniest bit for making getting out of the battle that much harder for him. 

But it was fine. It was all fine because surviving seemed to be another area Zuko was a prodigy in. He knew how to dodge earthbenders’ attacks, how not to get knocked over, and how to continue to move if he fell. He had even more practice avoiding fire and trying not to get burned from when he was younger. So it was fine, it would all be fine, Zuko could _deal_ with this. 

It was not all fine, because Zuko did not know what the _hell_ to do when the entire _ground_ started to collapse. He had seen the aftermath of this attack before but Zuko had never encountered enough active earthbenders to have the ground be uprooted to this degree and to this depth. 

Zuko panicked for a moment as he fell into a particularly deep hole, before gritting his teeth and doing what he did best: getting back up and surviving. 

He had lived three fucking years on these frontlines. He was _not_ going to get buried by a bunch of earthbenders he had almost avoided. 

Half running and half climbing, Zuko covered distance painfully slowly, having to constantly drag himself out of holes before they buried him alive or crushed him into dust. He had long stopped trying to avoid the sharp portions of the ground. The damage they inflicted on his feet was nothing compared to the boulders that almost crushed him and the dirt that almost clogged his throat. If he had to choose, he would choose the sharp ground, and so he did, again and again and again. 

There came a point, he wasn’t sure when, where his feet were bleeding freely and even Zuko with his high pain tolerance couldn’t stand on them without falling back down again. And though his shoulders ached from carrying the mailbag, he still dragged himself across the ground, pulling himself to a crawling position when he needed to move quicker. 

His body scraped painfully against the ground, and with a strange mix of stress and calm, he thought about all the times he had complained after training sessions of being sore and hurt. That was really _nothing_ compared to this hell. 

As if to truly become hell, everything started to feel too hot to be normal. Zuko swiveled his head around, and though he couldn’t see well in the dust, he didn’t spot any fires on the mailbag or immediately near him. It was just his imagination, or just heat traveling. It didn’t matter which, so he just kept moving. 

He kept moving and moving and moving until he thought he saw the end of the battlefield. There was no true end to a battlefield, he knew, and he would have to keep moving long past that point in order to truly get away, but it was a place with less fighting and it was a concrete destination. If he had a concrete destination, he could get there. 

Zuko’s teeth were clenched so hard that he thought his teeth would break, but he counted the distance he traveled with the beating of his erratic heart. It was still too far away, but it was getting closer, it was—

Zuko tumbled down again, the earth splitting apart and blowing up underneath him. He winced at thinking about all the bruises he was going to have and at the bones he had probably broken. He almost groaned at how many more he would get before he reached the end.

The end that was still so far away. Zuko twitched on the still shaking ground, trying to ready himself for the next attack that never came. The earthbender probably thought he was dead, or that the attack was so thorough it would have killed anyone there. That was good for Zuko. That meant he could get up safely, soon. 

That was, if he even wanted to. 

The sound of the battle blended into background noise and Zuko thought that while not nice, it could almost be… comforting. It was too loud to hear his own thoughts, too loud to even think about thinking. Zuko’s eyes started to drift close when the smell of burning flesh brought them back open with a start. 

The effort that went into getting up to look around felt like too much, so, trying to control his breathing, he tried to douse all the flames close to him. It took several tries for it to stop smelling like burning flesh and more like smoke. 

Inhaling and exhaling and hacking up dust and dirt, Zuko slowly pushed himself up. He didn’t even scream when he noticed the bodies of soldiers near him. He looked at them for a long time and, despite Zuko’s common sense and despite everything he had learned, he crawled over and checked their pulses. 

Two were already dead. The other wasn’t. 

He should leave while he could. A body would slow him down. He already had the mailbag, he already was injured, he already couldn’t stand and was tearing the skin on his knees off. He _couldn’t_ take the soldier. 

He took the soldier. Zuko hooked his arms around their chest and forced himself to stand on the sides of his feet. He was pretty sure he was crying, but that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was moving, so he moved his feet, one painful step at a time. He forced himself to count to the slight rise and fall of the soldier’s chest and forced himself to keep going until it stopped. 

It didn’t stop. Zuko made his way through dust and got back up again after he fell and fell and fell again, and still the soldier remained, miraculously, alive. And, just as miraculously, Zuko made it out far enough to be relatively safe. 

The battle was still ongoing in the distance, and Zuko figured the 41st was better than he had thought, because the battle was taking a lot longer than he had expected. Or perhaps it was just because it took a while to kill more than ten thousand people. 

Zuko gently laid down the soldier, and, not as gently, dropped his mailbag onto the ground, almost falling over when the weight was relieved from his back. 

Before attending to the soldier, he grabbed the last bit of a roll of bandage he had and wrapped it around his feet. Then, gingerly scooting closer to the soldier, he took off the helmet to survey the damage.

It… was not good. But they were still alive, and Zuko took off the rest of the dented armor to make it easier to breathe. He looked back to the battle, then. 

He couldn’t go back. This one person he had already semi-saved almost cost him his life more than a few times. He couldn’t go back, and no matter what he thought, he wouldn’t be like the medics in the three courier problem, because this wasn’t his choice. He didn’t want any of them to die, and he wasn’t purposely _letting_ them die. Besides, the one he had already saved could die while he was away. _Zuko_ could die and that would help no one. This wasn’t the three courier problem and he shouldn’t be feeling guilty for something that wasn’t his fault. 

But the entire 41st Division were the two dead couriers, and Zuko had been the one to deliver the letter. 

Maybe if Zuko had delivered the letter quicker, the 41st could have gotten out of the way or been able to prepare. 

Maybe if he had been better, he wouldn’t have had to focus on saving himself and he could have at least _helped_ the others. He could have saved the two other couriers, because if he helped, then they wouldn’t have gotten so severe injuries, and they wouldn’t have died from bleeding out or infection.

Or maybe the two couriers were doomed to die the moment they got caught in the battlefield. The Fire Nation was never kind to those who didn’t learn quickly, and those two couriers had not been quick learners. Perhaps if the wounds from the battle weren’t deep enough, the medics would make them so that they were.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, and maybe, maybe, maybe. Those were just situations and questions he would never have the answer to. 

Zuko watched the unconscious soldier for the longest of times. 

He knew he shouldn’t go back. He knew he was barely _able_ to go back. 

He went back anyway. 

It was only to the fringes of the battle and only to drag unconscious and semi-conscious bodies out. By the time that the backup division came—Zuko wondered for a moment how long they had been waiting before squashing that thought. He needed to focus on remaining conscious, not on figuring out a question he didn’t want to know the answer to—Zuko had managed to drag six more soldiers out. 

He had taken off all of their armor, and he fumbled with the small amount of medical supplies he kept on him, trying to keep them alive while keeping a careful eye on the battle. 

In the end, the battle was won by the Fire Nation. Not long after the backup division had arrived, actually. Compared to the drawn out struggle of the 41st, the backup division’s fight looked quick and almost easy. 

Zuko waited till he could no longer feel the earth shaking and could no longer see any sign of the Earth Kingdom army before shooting fire into the air, a poor and weak copy of a flare.

It took a few more tries for scouts to finally come. 

“They were already unconscious when I dragged them out,” Zuko said, keeping his eyes fixed on the current soldier he was trying to attend to. It was easier this way to lie, and he could only hope that when the soldiers awoke, they would go along with the story. This way, they wouldn’t be branded as cowards. This way, they could actually survive and have a life. “They’re all still alive, though.”

The scouts didn’t say a word, only dividing into two groups: one to leave, and one to stay and help until those who could heal and aid came. 

Zuko stayed, not because he could actually do anything to help. If the medics wanted to create the seven soldier problem, Zuko could do nothing. He stayed because his feet had soaked the bandages around them with blood, because blood was leaking from his knees and no doubt other places as well, because he knew he should be in horrible pain, but he just felt completely numb. 

He stayed, because this time, he really couldn’t leave. He tried to, as the medics approached with stretchers and equipment, but he fell back to the ground, and one of the scouts was holding him. His mouth wasn’t working, so he couldn’t tell whoever it was to get _away_ , and when they laid him on a stretcher, he hated to admit that he was almost more scared than he was during the battle. 

The medics, surprisingly, did not create a seven soldier problem, or a seven soldier and a courier problem. Perhaps it was Zuko watching them like a hawk as they worked and operated, eyes shifting from soldier to soldier, refusing to let anyone close until the others were taken care of, that prevented that from happening.

He didn’t really care if that was the case. The only thing that mattered was that none of the seven he had saved, and none of the few other soldiers that had been dragged from the battlefield, died. 

Zuko’s shoulders only started to relax once the last soldier was declared as stable, and that was also when he became aware that the medics were all staring at him. He vaguely remembered snapping at them when they came close before, and if he had the energy, he would have snarled at them now. As it was now, he could only blearily look at them as his head pounded and his body hurt and his feet bled. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” he tried to say, but it was an obvious lie. 

“You’re very badly burned,” one medic told him in her version of soft. “We need to at least make sure that your sight and hearing aren’t affected, and that your other wounds don’t get infected.”

Zuko looked up and frowned. Burns? That… that didn’t make sense. 

Zuko remembered fire in the battle. Of course there had been fire in the battle, because he had felt it get hot with the dying defenses of a doomed division. He remembered fire sometimes getting too close, and he remembered avoiding it, because the mailbag wasn’t allowed to go on fire. But he didn’t remember any actually hitting him. 

He thought, at least. He was more than a little preoccupied during the battle. 

Swallowing, Zuko asked, “What… what do you mean?”

The medics didn’t answer, but that time, when they rubbed salve on him, cut away at dead skin, cleaned his wounds, and wrapped a lot of him up in gauze and bandage, he didn’t protest. 

In the end, half of his face was covered, as well as parts of his torso and his entire left arm. And those were just the burns. 

Zuko stayed in the medic’s tent, one soldier watching him at all times as if he was just going to get up and leave. He didn’t even think about it, focusing his attention on the seven he had rescued, glaring at them because they better not spontaneously die, especially after everything he had done for them. 

Sometimes, when he got bored at looking at the same seven bodies that sometimes became semi-conscious but were more often unconscious, he glared at the other three, because it would be stupid of them to die after surviving that bloodbath. 

And they all did. Zuko was surprised at first, because things never worked out that well, when he considered that no, this was more than a little terrible. 

The soldiers were alive. They would have to live with the memory of being sent to die and with everyone around them dying. They would live with scars that were worse than a few burns. They would have to live with the fact that out of everyone, they were the ones that survived.

Worse than that, they were new recruits. That fact would buffer the blow that was this staggering defeat—because no one would ever admit that this was planned—but it also served a more fatal wound: there weren’t many opportunities for veterans, and as young veterans, they didn’t even have the benefit of large pensions. 

Zuko tried to tell himself that it was better that they were alive, that the soldiers would like to be alive to see their families, that despite immense injuries, they could still make a life for themselves. 

He couldn’t quite convince himself of that fact. 

Zuko left three days later. The medics protested and Zuko just gestured to his mailbag. 

“There are a lot of families waiting for word,” he said and that was that. The medics refilled his supplies and gave him exact instructions on how to take care of his injuries, all the while muttering that they really _shouldn’t_ be letting him go.

They let him go, and Zuko went by the main roads this time, limping all the while. 

“Name?” the checkpoint guard asked, and looked up. The look on his face changed from disinterest to concern and pity in an instant. Zuko almost scowled, but he figured he had better get used to receiving those emotions. 

“Li,” he rasped out, “Last courier sent to the 41st Division.”

It seemed like word had already spread, because horror was playing across the guard’s face. 

“The Earth Kingdom army arrived sooner than expected,” Zuko continued, keeping his gaze fixed on everything that wasn’t the checkpoint guard’s face. “I am headed to the islands to deliver the soldiers’ letters.”

The guard let him pass and didn’t even write him up as late. Zuko thought he might have even pulled a few strings to allow Zuko to go, because there was no other explanation as to why he was allowed to, except for his vacation days finally getting cashed in. 

Ultimately, it didn’t matter why he was allowed to go, because no one interrupted his trek across the islands and that was good enough for Zuko. 

It didn’t matter that he was stared at even more than he was before, and it didn’t matter that he was carrying the weight of the dead, and it didn’t matter that his feet still hurt so much he felt like passing out. No one interrupted him and that was good enough.

Maybe if he told himself that enough times, he would finally believe it. 

Zuko read the letters on the ride back to the islands. He only read the ones marked to go to families that couldn’t read, ones he would have had to read anyways, ones he had mostly written as well. 

It didn’t make Zuko feel any better. Going through soldiers’ letters almost felt dirty, especially when those soldiers were dead. But he needed the practice. It wouldn’t do for him to get choked up while reading. 

That right was reserved for the families and friends. 

Zuko made sure that the door to the small room he had been given was closed, and pulled out a few letters, because Kuzon of Shu Jing had several, one to go to each member of his family. 

Kuzon asked his mother about her health and if her back was feeling any better. He asked how his younger brother was doing. The younger brother had been sick, and Kuzon warned that it could be fire fever. There had been a small wave of it that passed through several divisions, and with some soldiers going home on leave, it would only spread. Kuzon said he would make sure he didn’t have it before coming home. 

He asked his father about the family business and if the harvest was better this year. He had heard that the taxes were going to increase soon, but Kuzon told his father not to worry, because he would be getting his first paycheck soon, and that could cover the increase. He talked about some of the rumors he heard from the other soldiers, ways he heard the war was progressing, new technology that was being developed. 

He teased his sister, saying that there were so many good looking boys here, so if she had no other reason to welcome him home when he came back, then she should come to see the boys. Kuzon talked about jewelry he saw in the market and enclosed a small piece that he had bought. He apologized it wasn’t bigger, but he was in a rush, and it was jade, which was her favorite, so he had to get it. After a few paychecks, he promised he would get a better piece, but for now, he said it would have to suffice.

And to his younger brother, Kuzon talked about all the animals he had seen and the ones he had ridden. He even had sketches of the animals and told him that everything was going well and while he loved the Fire Nation, he couldn’t wait to be home again, so they could spend time together. He would even teach his brother what he knew about strategy, and then they could play games together and—

Zuko thought that his tears had already been drained. But they seeped down his face and Zuko had to put the letter away in order not to leave watermarks.

With shaking hands, he rubbed his eyes and decided that he disliked reading soldiers’ letters. No, not just disliked. He _hated_ it and it didn’t fucking matter if he cried on the spot, because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t read through words that were filled with such _hope_ but now only reeked of false promises.

He made sure that his mailbag was firmly shut. He didn’t open it again for the length of the ride to the islands.

By the time he arrived on the islands, it wasn’t just the massacre of the 41st that was being talked about, but a little boy who carried the words of the dead. Zuko felt like that was an overly poetic way to describe him, but it wasn’t wrong.

When he stepped off the boat, people crowded him, immediately asking if it was _their_ child or spouse or sibling or cousin who had survived. Guards managed to keep the crowd back, and, with shaking hands, Zuko put down his bag and opened the bag. He rifled through it, and started to pull out letters, reading off the names with a voice that alternated between hoarse and shaky, and hoarse and firm. 

No one needed him to read there, and none of those who had survived came from that town, so while the families were crying, he slipped away. 

The pattern continued, though people stopped crowding him. They would appear when he entered a town, and he would look through his bag and call out names. He read out letters to those who couldn’t read, and he only cried a few times. 

To ten families who were either very lucky or unlucky, he wasn’t sure which, Zuko told them that their family member was alive. To all the others, he hadn’t needed to say a thing. 

In the end, he wasn’t sure which families were hurt more; the ones who had lost, or the ones who had ones still alive. They all wept the same amount and Zuko supposed it was a tragedy either way. 

Sometimes families looked at him and did more than just ask after whoever in their family was deployed. 

Sometimes, families asked if he had been there, even though everyone who had half a mind knew. There was no other way for him to be so injured, no other way for him to know who survived, no other way for him to have the letters. 

Sometimes, families asked about his age, but they weren’t captains or generals, and Zuko had no obligation to answer them. 

_Old enough to be sent to die_ , he sometimes imagined telling them. It wouldn’t be the answer that they wanted, but then again, questions that shouldn’t exist to be asked didn’t often have nice answers. 

Sometimes, families asked about his own family, and then, Zuko stayed silent for a very different reason. 

_My family doesn’t give a shit about me_ , he sometimes wanted to tell them. 

But each time he opened his mouth to try, he thought of Azula coming to his room, scared of a thunderstorm and taking comfort with her big brother, and how _he_ was the first person who saw her throw her first sparks. He thought of the times Lu Ten would sneak with him to steal sweets from the kitchen. He thought about Mother and her kind words and scathing critiques on the Ember Island players, how she agreed that _Love Amongst the Dragons_ was a good play, actually, it was just butchered in production. He thought of Uncle, and his obsession with tea and a game Zuko couldn’t even begin to understand. 

He even thought of Father, because sometimes, when Zuko had been good enough, Father would pat him on the head, hesitant like he wasn’t sure how to do it. He even thought about the grandfather he had rarely seen, because one time, the Fire Lord had seen him practicing with his swords and said that he had a fine ability. 

All of that came rushing back each time he thought of _family_ , and even though it was their fault that he was here, he couldn’t speak ill of them. 

He just couldn't. 

He tried not to think of why, especially as he saw other families, families his father would call lesser, treat their children with love and kindness no matter what they had done. He tried not to think of it, because it was a topic he couldn’t afford to think about. 

So he quietly filed it away and turned his now at least partially deaf ear to those towards who asked. 

There were too many soldiers that had no one. Zuko had known it at the time he was collecting those letters, but he felt it now acutely, because the bag was still far from empty and his back was _screaming_. 

He couldn’t keep the letters with him. He had no space, and he knew he would never read them. He wasn’t sure if he could even handle the idea of reading their dreams even if those dreams were likely faked or heavily edited to be made suitable for the Fire Nation. 

But regardless of what the dead men and women knew or did not know, Zuko was stuck with too many letters that he did not know what to do with. So Zuko did the only thing he could do. 

He kept walking. 

He walked through towns and he knew people knew who he was, and he knew they were staring at his mailbag that was not empty but remained unopened. He knew that they were wondering who the poor receivers of those letters would be. 

They didn’t stop him to ask him, though. They only watched as Zuko continued on. 

Even the Fire Nation was blurring together. Zuko didn’t know where he was, only that it was a place he was given free food. 

Someone sat next to him and for a moment, Zuko was on alert. He had utensils nearby he could use to throw and he could also throw his plate if it came to him. 

Then Zuko untensed. So what if he was mugged or attacked? He had nothing of worth on him except feet that didn’t know when to stop and a body that continued to hurt. A mugger would leave him alone once they realized that. 

Zuko went back to picking at his food and the person cleared their throat. 

“Where are those letters to be delivered to?” the person asked. 

Zuko’s throat felt too clogged to answer. He just drained more of his drink and stared at his food. 

The person shifted, and the sound was so _loud_ that Zuko barely managed to stop himself from snapping. 

“Nowhere,” he managed out. “They didn’t have anyone to write to.”

“Then why are there letters?”

“It’s a sign of their existence,” Zuko shrugged, gripping his glass tightly and willing the person to go away. 

The person did not go away. 

“We can,” they said slowly, “make a memorial. Take the letters.”

“Who’s to say you won’t burn them?” 

The person looked aghast that Zuko had even thought of that, but Zuko had seen the front. He had seen soldiers burn. He had burned. He had seen soldiers crushed until they were almost unrecognizable. He had almost been one of them. 

Burning a few letters was nothing in comparison. 

“We wouldn’t,” the person said. “We’ll prove it to you.”

Zuko was inclined to disbelieve, but his eyes felt more like hollow sockets and his back just might be permanently bent at this point. That said nothing for the wounds that were healing wrong, the burns that needed more treatment than they had got, the arm that he was supposed to be resting but was instead being used, the part of his leg that burned with every step, or the feet that would never look clean or feel smooth again. 

He was ruining himself with every moment that this journey continued, and he cared about the 41st, he really did, but his exhaustion ran deeper than his care. 

So Zuko just nodded and noted absently that rooms he had not ordered were set aside for him. 

Zuko woke up long after the sun had risen, and by then, the frame of the memorial was already made. By the time that the sun was at its highest, it was ready for the letters. 

Zuko passed them out and watched as the letters were woven into the frame, until the structure was covered with the names, homes, and dreams of dead soldiers. 

He didn’t cry. He looked at it for a long time before picking up his mailbag and finally leaving. 

They didn’t send him out after he delivered the last of the letters. When Zuko appeared at the checkpoint with an empty bag and a back that alternated between hunched out of habit and straight now that there was no weight, he was first directed to the medic and then to the dorms. 

Zuko was proud that he didn’t shake a bit when the medic was patching him up, though he did become relieved when the medic allowed him to leave, even if Zuko felt like he had better things to do than rest. 

Like actually look at his injuries. He crept to the bathroom and gazed at his bandaged self in the mirror for a while. Then he unwrapped the bandages on his face. 

While doing so, Zuko had prepared himself for it to be very bad. And, well, Zuko hadn’t known what to expect, so he couldn’t say that it was better or worse than what he had thought, but it was definitely _bad_. Bad enough to make him really wonder how he hadn’t felt it. Still, that was only the first order of business. 

Teeth clenched, Zuko experimentally closed his right eye. It was only closed for a second before he opened it up again and tried to control his breathing. 

He had gotten used to only seeing with his right eye because of the bandages, and adjusting his balance and movement slightly to accommodate for the temporary loss of an eye, but it was just supposed to be that. Temporary. 

It was bad enough that at least some of his hearing was gone—Zuko didn’t need to check to know that, since it was pretty obvious that he couldn’t hear as well as he used to, and there were only so many battles he could get stuck in before his hearing started to suffer—but his _sight_. 

Zuko stared at his scarred and burned face and things he hadn’t noticed before started to appear with startingly clarity. The fact that the range of his vision was much decreased, the fact that the burns and the wounds _hurt_ , the fact that he was so fucking tired and that tears were pooling in his eyes—no, eye, since his left was useless now. It was dead. 

He put the gauze back on and decided not to check on his other burns or any other wounds. He quietly shoved the tangle of feelings within him away with all the questions he could never ask and all the topics he could never think about. 

He, instead, did as the medic asked and made his way to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent so long editing this (many hours over THREE DAYS), which mainly comprised of re-writing sections and going back to the original version, so if something doesn't read well/there are typos, feel free to point them out. I encourage you to actually point them out, cause I'm probably going to edit stuff when I get around to writing the other chapters. I also don't know how to write action scenes so uh sorry I guess.
> 
> Some actual notes: in this AU, Zuko gets around to the realization that his father was abusive (and that the rest of his family aren't angels) earlier, but just getting out of the environment and spending three years out on the front isn't enough to dissuade that. He hasn't had many encounters with actual adult role models, and while he was definitely confused and angry that he got kicked out, it's something he has really mixed feelings about and is still trying to puzzle it out. Also, Zuko is very good at being focused on a single task, which is part of the reason he did not notice the injuries he got and he was able to ignore the pain of them.
> 
> If you have any other questions, feel free to let me know, either in the comments, or you could ask me on my tumblr ([@mag026](https://mag026.tumblr.com/)).
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave kudos/comments! Hope y'all are having a good day <3
> 
> (Edit from later: if you're really doubting how Zuko was able to carry ~11000 letters, first know that courier bags are like huge duffel bags, and secondly, 100 sheets of paper are roughly 1 cm in width, so you'd need a bit more than a meter's worth of space to hold 11000 sheets. Since duffel bags are huge and also wider than a sheet of paper, it fits. It's just very, very heavy. Also, ch 2 is currently at 8.8k and undergoing severe edits so have fun with that when it comes.)
> 
> (Edit no 2 later: added another scene because turns out I suck at being consistent)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is like. very very late where i'm at and i am very tired and stressed but this almost 11k chapter is alright enough for me to be done with it. 
> 
> i guess some answers to some potentials questions that may arise:  
> \- yes i just did add more characters and relationships. the romantic relationships are there because trust me, they're going to make things VERY funny and that's essentially the only reason why i'm including them lol  
> \- yes OCs here have Japanese names whereas the ones in if i'm old enough to die for your mistakes had Chinese names. I had this really long explanation as to why, but then that got derailed by learning that the Fire Nation is actually more culturally Chinese, not Japanese, so idek what I'm doing anymore. i'll elaborate more later, but the general thing now is that the Fire Nation is a very diverse place and even without this revelation, it would not have just been filled with all Japanese coded characters.  
> \- so ikem is in this chapter and i have not read the comics (i just thought it would be very funny if i added him). his general storyline (in this fic) goes like this: is born, is friends with Ursa, falls in love with Ursa, ends up proposing to Ursa, whoosh Ozai and Azulon sort of kidnap her because of the whole "your grandfather was avatar roku", ikem is heartbroken and has to kinda hide because he does try to get her back but fails. so he goes by noren, becomes a medic, and is very sad. 
> 
> ***Things to know when going going into this***  
> \- content warnings for discussions of war and also casual racism (wrt propaganda) and the general cws that come with war. i will probably add an end note later.  
> \- i added two more scenes to the prev chapter and if you don't want to reread it, it was just zuko sort of having a breakdown and also dealing with the fact that a division is around 10-15k people.  
> \- Ikem's alias is Noren, which means that when it's his POV, he will be referred to as Ikem, and when it's someone else's POV, or when other people use his name, Noren will be the name used.

Everyone said the war came to be because the Fire Nation wanted to spread its greatness, and the other uncivilised nations refused and then attacked. The only reason the war continued was because those nations wouldn’t stop until they saw the Fire Nation destroyed. 

Some added on that the Fire Nation was kind and still willing to spread its greatness. The Fire Nation fought, not only to not get destroyed, but to be able to gift the other nations with the advancements they had refused. And that kindness, they said, was why the war was lasting so long. 

The Fire Lord, some said, wanted to give the other nations a chance to surrender. The other nations would more readily accept the Fire Nation’s knowledge if they chose to surrender rather than being forcibly conquered. 

That was when others fired back, saying that the Earth Kingdom was made up of hotheaded peasants and the Water Tribes of savages, both of whom wouldn’t know their own good from their ass. 

Zuko couldn’t believe that he had believed any of this bullshit. 

He couldn’t believe that even when on the front, even when he had _seen_ how the Fire Nation really acted, he had still thought there were kernels of truth in the obvious lies. 

Staring down at his bandaged hand, his back still aching and his wounds throbbing, he could only see what he refused to before. 

The Fire Nation was wrong. 

They were wrong because the Air Nomads were dead, the Southern Water Tribe was decimated if the few reports Zuko managed to glance at had anything to say about it, the Northern Water Tribe wasn’t even involved in the war, and the Earth Kingdom was really only fighting _back_. There was no great enemy out there to try and decimate the Fire Nation. 

They were wrong because an enemy couldn’t be so weak they were a pathetic enemy _and_ strong enough to be a sizable threat. The enemy couldn’t be stupid and yet keep being, at the very least, a nuisance to the “superior” nation for _one hundred years_.

They were _wrong_ because the greatness the Fire Nation preached spoke of education, no poverty, and technological advancements but the greatness they practiced was just a facade of lies in the image of the Fire Nation’s flag. It involved, no, _required_ slaughter for fun and minimal profit, threw away anyone who wasn’t worth enough, and was just selfish ambition on the part of the Fire Lord and the other nobles with power.

The Fire Nation was wrong. Zuko longed to say it aloud, to speak it into existence, to give proof that it was _true_. He almost said it and he almost screamed because it only took the murder of eleven thousand and twenty eight men and women for him to realize what he should have known all along. 

He didn’t open his mouth, though. His trembling hands and the countless paper cuts that adorned them served as a suitable substitute for a scream, because by _Agni_ , he really couldn’t have done _anything_ for the 41st except for his job, except for the absolute bare minimum of delivering their fucking letters.

If Zuko was still a prince, he could have done things. He would have had the possibility of being politically powerful. He could have been at the war meeting where things like the massacre of the 41st were discussed and planned, and he could have protested and _stopped_ it. 

But Zuko wasn’t a prince anymore. 

Prince Zuko, to virtually everyone, was dead. 

Zuko bit his lip until it bled. He wasn’t _stupid_. He had never thought that he would be able to go back to his old life. The first few months, sure, he thought that if he was good enough, they would take him back. 

But he had been exceptional the first few months and all that got him was more work. Zuko knew that he was a courier now, and he was to stay one. 

It never stopped his daydreams of visiting Caldera and catching a glimpse of his family and of the insane impossibility that one of them would recognize him and allow him to come back. 

And the thing about his daydreams was that Zuko knew that there was a slight possibility of them coming true. Only if any member of his family recognized him, though. 

Zuko had gone back to the mirror to look at what would now be his face several more times, and even _he_ could barely recognize himself. His family, who had now gone three years without him, who didn’t know how much he had grown in those three years, would certainly _never_ recognize him. 

Zuko’s face twitched so fiercely it tugged at the burns. He pressed his nails deep into his palms until that small pain was all he could focus on. 

He couldn’t cry. A Fire Nation royal could never cry because a Fire Nation royal was supposed to be strong. 

… But he wasn’t a royal anymore. He didn’t _have_ to be strong. He could be weak for a little bit, because there was no Father to get mad, there were no expectations that he had to reach, and there was no one depending on him now. 

Zuko started to cry and it didn’t feel as good or releasing as he thought it would. It especially didn’t feel good when he couldn’t feel any water on his left side. Whether that was because his left eye wasn’t making tears or too much of his face was burned to feel, Zuko didn’t want to know. 

He went back to pressing his nails into his skin, focusing on those pinpricks of feelings until he stopped crying.

Distantly, he knew that he should be planning how to deal with this revelation. He couldn’t just continue life as if nothing had changed. But every time he dared to broach the subject, he saw a shriveled and burned face, and small whimpers always escaped. 

He could think about this another time, he decided. For the present moment, he tried to curl up the best he could. 

His best, of course, was not very good, but for the first time in a while, Zuko didn’t care. 

A later time, it turned out, was during another one of the healing sessions.

Zuko had not been aware that there would be healing sessions, plural, especially considering the amount of time they had spent on him the first time around. So when one of the medics, one he didn’t recognize, tried to escort him over, half of his mind had frozen, thinking about how much he _didn’t_ want the medics surrounding him when he was vulnerable. 

The other half was… well, he wasn’t really sure what it was doing, but it definitely failed in keeping the medic away. When Zuko started to calm down, he realized he was lying down, a large number of his bandages off, and the medics bustling around. 

That definitely did not help him calm down any further. 

When he got sulky, Mother always told him to look on the bright side. Well, the bright side here was that with the air prickling his exposed skin, Zuko now knew that he could feel on that side. The lack of feeling the other day probably was because he couldn’t cry with that eye. 

The other bright side was that he didn’t need to be worrying about his left eye when he was trying to hold back tears thinking of Mother. 

Being in an infirmary was not helping. Mother had always taken care of his scrapes and bruises. She had also been the one to teach him what different herbs did. 

She, Zuko realized with a slight jerk that definitely disrupted whatever work was going on around him, could have been called a healer. 

In other words, a medic. 

Zuko’s breath started to quicken. Mother couldn’t have been like _that_ , but then again, Zuko didn’t know what she did outside of being a mother. He had once thought that Uncle Iroh was only an uncle and a father, and that “General” and “Dragon of the West” had just been fancy titles that meant nothing. Then he learned what those words meant and while he tried to act like nothing had changed, he couldn’t help but have his images of his uncle be tainted. 

His mother had been safe from anything like that, though, because she didn’t have titles that didn’t make sense. 

Had been safe till now. 

Zuko’s eyes—or eye, because wasn’t the other one blind now?—darted around, trying to find some form of distraction. It landed instead on the medic that Zuko didn’t recognize and Zuko wanted to _scream_ , his mind running through all the possibilities of what this medic was like. 

Maybe he was just like the other two, and that would be uncomfortable but fine. But he could also be like the field medics who made the decision of who to save and who to not save, even if that choice didn’t need to be made. He could be a medic who only cared about those who could get better, and if Zuko didn’t look like he was going to get better— 

Oh. He was breathing a lot more harshly now. He was making sounds he probably shouldn’t. No one seemed to notice it yet and Zuko forced himself to hold his breath and then let it out in shuddering steps. 

He wasn’t a prince, and he didn’t need to be strong, but he couldn’t appear weak. The courier service wouldn’t want him if that was the case. And they would definitely think him weak if he showed his fear. 

Zuko closed his eyes and tried to focus on something other than the footsteps and murmurs of the medics. 

He could… he could think of what to do. A plan for how to deal with the Fire Nation. Yes, that was something he needed to do, something he had needed the time to do, and what better place to do it than a situation where he desperately needed to be away from?

This much was clear: the Fire Nation was wrong, and they couldn’t be allowed to win the war. Zuko knew that his measly self wouldn’t end the war—it was too big and had been around for too long to be taken down by one person. But he could help. He could help rebels or educate people. 

That, a small part of Zuko noted, was treason. A larger part of Zuko wondered if it was strange how little that fazed him. 

He would have to commit treason. He would be committing a betrayal directly to his family. 

But would it be a betrayal if they never really knew it was him? Was it a betrayal if it was arguably better for everyone? If the war stopped, then all the funds and men and effort could be sent to actually improve Fire Nation lives. And once that was done, and if the other nations wanted it? There could be an exchange of knowledge. 

Wasn’t that a better world than this one? Wasn’t _that_ better for the Fire Nation?

That was what Zuko thought, at least. And if he worked towards a better future for the Fire Nation, then was that really treason?

He didn’t think so. And Zuko thought that if he could explain to his family, they would understand.

Zuko mentally shook his head. He would never be able to explain, because the only case where that could happen was if he was caught. And Zuko had no intention of letting that happen.

Unfortunately, that narrowed down the field of what he could do. If he wanted to not get caught, then he would have to join a group of a sort. The only one that Zuko knew of was a band of deserters who was headed by someone creatively called the Deserter. Supposedly, wretched cowards joined them by the day, but the information of how to defect to them hadn’t reached the courier network. 

Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have mattered because Zuko was good at finding things. But Zuko didn’t have the time to go off searching in the Earth Kingdom, not unless he already knew where they were and not unless he wanted to fully desert. Besides, with his injuries, he would be lucky to do half of what he could do before, and Zuko knew that luck wasn’t something he had in store. 

As he was now, it would be more beneficial for the deserters if he stayed a sort of spy. He was a courier, and he had access to information others wouldn’t be able to have. Passing that along would be more useful than being just another deserter. 

Zuko contemplated for a moment trying to gain access to some Earth Kingdom captains or soldiers, but they would definitely sooner kill him than listen to him, and they wouldn't be conversing about the Deserter for him to easily eavesdrop on. So directly dealing with the Earth Kingdom was a no-go. 

The relief that flooded him at that realization was almost palpable. Which was _stupid_ because if he was going to help anyone in this war, it would at least indirectly be the Earth Kingdom. It would be better if he met with them sooner rather than later. He understood that but that didn’t stop him from feeling vaguely lighter than he had before, even though he was now confronted with the fact that he would have to find the deserters or another method of treason. 

He could always listen to army gossip to try and find traces of them, but considering that he was a courier, he would probably be noticed until he regained his mobility and could spy. There was also the issue that army gossip was army _gossip_. Zuko would need to rely on something more credible than that, and he really didn’t want to sneak around and read their letters.

He could also listen to courier gossip, but he wasn’t integrated that well with the other couriers, and there tended to be even less truth in their words. It came with having to travel long distances and encountering people with stunningly different perceptions on almost everything. 

Which left him with no incredibly feasible options. Zuko, for a moment, entertained the idea of starting a revolution, but he was rather tired and he didn’t want to think through all the mechanics that would require a revolution. It would at least require access into the army, and getting enough couriers to disrupt the communications network would be helpful as well, and Zuko had never been good at social stuff. Especially considering the fact that if he started a revolution, he would have to confront his family at some point, whether it be when he was overthrowing them or them executing him.

Zuko winced. Maybe he wouldn’t think about that aspect and think instead about the other couriers, because a revolution by them could actually _work_. Hardly anyone paid attention to them, as shown by the fact that if Zuko did half the stunts he did while couriering in the army, he would have likely gotten medals or severe reprimands. With so little scrutiny, it would be that much easier to stage a rebellion. 

Zuko would just have to be careful so no one found out. Except for those who were like-minded. And except maybe those who could be recruited, but Zuko would have to be discreet in those areas and gain their trust. And _then_ he would have to actually organize a communications blackout and what to do next. 

… maybe Zuko would just stick to listening to gossip. If he couldn’t figure anything out, then he could just fully desert. It was not the best approach, but if it was the only approach, Zuko would take it. 

Zuko didn’t like the idea of living in the Earth Kingdom, but the more he thought about it, the more he had to admit that there was something alluring about not having to live in a land of fire and with the insurance of not being buried or hit by earth again.

Zuko was still thinking of other methods of treason as he rested when the other couriers came up to him. 

At first, Zuko hadn’t noticed them, alternating between trying to figure out how he could find the deserters, trying to think of more direct actions he could take other than assassination, and trying to pretend to read a random book he had found. The reading proved to be the most difficult, especially when he tried not to think as to why his vision was blurrier than normal.

Then one of the couriers spoke. “Um, Courier Li?”

“Yeah?” he asked, voice rasping as he craned his head back as far as he could without hurting.

“Oh, hi!” Whoever this courier was, it sounded like they were surprised Zuko had even acknowledged them. Zuko just wanted them to come into his field of vision. “I’m Courier Kuzon! Well, one of them anyways.”

Zuko nodded and tried not to think of a soldier who had been named Kuzon. He waved for Kuzon to come closer, and the kid—and wasn’t it weird that Kuzon was just a kid to him, when Kuzon was so obviously _older_ —came. His entourage shuffled into view but stayed a respectful distance back. 

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Zuko asked, wincing as the hoarse quality stayed.

Kuzon nodded, his eyes darting around like he wasn’t sure where to look. 

“Well,” Zuko said, wondering if this could be the end of the conversation and if it would be rude to lower himself into a lying position on his futon and to pointedly close his eyes, “welcome.”

“Uh, the other couriers—well, they told me that you’re the _best_ ,” Kuzon said. “Like really. The best.”

Zuko nodded warily, though he was not quite sure what was happening. He eyed the openings between the couriers and tried to think about how fast he could move if he needed to leave. Not very fast, was the answer, but definitely faster than the couriers would expect. 

Kuzon seemed to take the nod as encouragement, and in a quick voice, finished with, “And they say that you’re a good person to go to if you don’t want to die on your first run, so I was wondering if you had tips.”

Zuko blinked. And then blinked again. And then blinked once more for good measure. 

“Uh, sure?” 

Kuzon lit up, sat down with a thump, and watched Zuko expectedly. Zuko bit his lip and tried to think of what he wished he had known when he started. _The Fire Nation is wrong_ and _your family isn’t going to let you come back_ were things that Kuzon probably wasn’t asking about. 

“What kind of courier are you?” Zuko asked. “Front, hopper, or islands?”

“Um. Hopper?”

Which meant that Kuzon didn’t know what any of those words had meant. 

“Front couriers carry messages along the front,” Zuko said. “Usually it’s official correspondence, but they also take letters from soldiers to couriers closer to the Fire Nation. Hoppers go in between the colonies and the islands. Island couriers carry messages between the islands.”

“Okay, yeah, I’m a hopper.”

Zuko nodded. “You’ll get an ostrich-horse, then,” he said. “It’ll help carry the messages, so you don’t have to carry it all on your own. There’s honestly not much to know, except to memorize the docking schedules. But uh, well, when you’re crossing, you just go over to drop them off to the correct island courier, and then you go back to the colonies.”

Zuko chewed on his lip before saying, “Bring your gear here.” 

“Gear,” Kuzon said blankly. 

“You know, bag, any weapons… uh, the things you put in your bag. Those things,” Zuko said. “Like, you’ll still need all of that, especially the weapons if they send you nearer to the front to collect messages.”

“Right,” Kuzon said, getting up in a hurry, “Gear, of course!” 

Kuzon scampered off quickly and some of the other couriers followed him. The ones who stayed alternated between staring and looking at their feet. 

“What?” Zuko snapped, after about five seconds of this treatment. 

“You’re cool,” one of the couriers mumbled. 

That was not what he was expecting. At all. Zuko let out a huff that almost became a laugh. 

“You _are_ ,” that courier continued, face growing red. “Like, I’ve heard about almost all of your errands, almost because I _bet_ there are ones only you know of, and I just—”

The huff did become a laugh. It was a nervous, sort of hysterical laugh, and people would shy away from it if they heard, but at that point, everyone was laughing. No one could hear Zuko and his desperate gasps for air, and no one thought twice as he doubled up, trying to contain his nausea. 

Kuzon and his small crew came back and the laughter petered out. Zuko took some deep breaths to stabilize himself to not seem stranger than he was already, and, when he got himself under control, he pushed himself back up again.

Kuzon had brought his gear, all of which was stuffed haphazardly in his bag. Zuko gestured at Kuzon to come closer, grabbing his mailbag once it was close enough. 

“So first,” Zuko said, “you’re _really_ going to want to get the letters in the right destination slots, whether you’re getting it straight from the soldiers or getting a packet of mail. I was lucky, the first time around, because the soldiers were good enough to do it on their own, but some of them won’t. You won’t deal much with troops in the beginning, I think, so you should just focus on transferring the letters correctly.”

Zuko paused, wracking his brain for another good piece of advice, when he noticed that all the couriers were nodding almost seriously. Like what he was saying was actually useful. 

Or maybe they were just mocking him because every courier worth their stay already knew about the letter slots. 

Azula would have definitely nodded, only to laugh at him for thinking that she was actually interested. 

But the problem with Azula was that she usually _was_ interested. She was just _very_ good at pretending that she wasn’t. And if that was the case with her, the best manipulator and liar Zuko had ever known, then these couriers were likely genuine in their actions. 

Likely. If they weren’t, Zuko would just die in a hole somewhere far away. Maybe if he turned himself in to the Earth Kingdom army, they would make his death quick. 

Zuko studied the rest of the mailbag and then gestured to a pocket on the side. 

“You see how this is smaller than the others?” he asked. The others nodded. “It’s not great for carrying letters, and maybe there’s an actual purpose, but I usually use it to carry small supplies. Good needle and thread, for either myself, clothes, or the bag, as well as some patches. There’s also a medical kit you should’ve picked up, and the basic food and water. Those won’t fit inside the pocket—or, it _shouldn’t_. Like, the kit won’t ever fit unless it’s just the kit in there. If the food you have can all fit in there, then you need to get more food. But other than that, I guess maps could squeeze in there. It just gets hard to access them then, so don’t do that, if you need maps.”

Zuko threw a look at Kuzon to see if he was following, and then grabbed at the boy until he was sitting closer to the futon. 

“Now,” Zuko said, “there’s a bunch more boring stuff to do with bags that I can tell you about later, but the most important thing is how you wear it.”

Zuko didn’t notice that all the couriers came just a bit closer, and as Zuko explained the many ways the courier bag could be worn, some were practicing along with him. He definitely didn’t notice when a few more couriers joined in, though he did distantly note that the crowd seemed a bit larger when he looked up. 

“—and, because I had the strap easily adjustable, I was able to shift the mailbag so that I could make my way out of the rubble,” Zuko finished. “Which is why it’s very important to have your mailbag be secure, but also for it to be able to change positions easily. If worse comes to worst, then you can probably just drop it. I had to drop mine in a lake once, but because everything was in containers, I was able to salvage it and it turned out fine. But if you can’t, and no one will be able to retrieve it, then destroy it or drop it so it’ll get unreadable. Understand?”

Kuzon nodded. 

“Okay, good,” Zuko said, suppressing a yawn. “Once again, you probably won’t need all of that, since you’ll be a hopper, but better safe than sorry. And I think that’s it for today but come tomorrow—oh wait, when are you leaving?”

“In a month,” Kuzon said.

“Then you’ll get time to practice,” Zuko mused. “Okay. Come in a few days and show me what default position your mailbag will be in. I’ll also tell you about paths then.”

Kuzon’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, Courier Li!”

Zuko had the uncomfortable feeling that he was blushing. At least he had the excuse of burns and probably a fever to hide behind. 

“Yeah, okay,” Zuko said and immediately wanted to slap himself for the stupid response. 

“Do you want anything?” Kuzon asked, not seeming to notice Zuko’s mortification. 

“Do I what?”

“Well, we heard that the medics confined you to bedrest,” Kuzon said. “So if you need to get anything, we can get it to you. Or we can come tomorrow to see if you want things then, if now doesn’t work.”

“Actually,” Zuko said, brain whirring, “there are a _few_ things… ”

&&&

Out of the grand total of the three medics present at the courier base, the majority thought that Li would die. All of them cursed the ones that had let him go on his journey across the islands. Ikem was certainly of the latter group, and became a part of the former when he saw the extent of the kid’s injuries. 

Yes, Ikem knew that the time on the road only made some of his injuries worse and yes, he knew that the kid was probably a lot more put together when the bandages had all been new, but he still couldn’t fathom how anyone could look at Li and let him keep on going. 

Still, there was nothing to do about that. The past was in the past, and all that, but it wasn’t the first time he would have liked to time travel. 

“And do what?” Mio asked, ever the one to rain down on parades. “Kidnap him? He was a front courier. He’d probably be able to kill or at least evade you and that’d just cause more aggravations on his injuries. He would have died faster.”

“He’s not dead yet,” Akio said from the corner where he sat, frowning. “He’s not dead, so don’t act like that.”

Mio was one of the ones who thought Li would die. Ikem at least had the tack to not say it out loud. Because Ikem may have been new to the area, but he knew what Akio seemed set on refusing: the fact that it would be very hard to save Li. 

The first obstacle came with making sure that Li’s injuries didn’t kill him. The medics who had treated him had done a good job, but there was still a lot of healing to go, and without consistent care, the injuries had gotten worse throughout Li’s journey. 

The second obstacle came with Li himself. Ikem found himself thinking that Li could very well be half Earth Kingdom with how stubborn he was. It certainly would explain his name. 

Li didn’t even have the decency to try and be civil at first. Ikem’s first real encounter with him was when he was trying to get him into a wheelchair to get him to a second healing session. The first one had been quick because they already had a pre-planned surgery, but this time, they had time and the resources. 

Ikem had been deemed the most kid friendly medic, so he had been tasked with getting Li from the courier’s dorms to the infirmary. Ikem thought that it wouldn’t be too hard, considering the fact that Li was half dead. 

Ikem was wrong. First, Li kept trying to stand on his own. 

“Your feet,” Ikem said, trying to at least guide the kid into the wheelchair and failing, “are very, very hurt. If you get in the chair, it will ease the pressure off of them and make it easier for them to heal.”

“I’ve been fine,” Li said, and it sounded like he was both grounding the words and spitting them out. “I walked all over the islands.”

“That was remarkable, but we just need you to sit now,” Ikem said. “You should be resting, and this takes less energy than walking.”

Li was still glaring at the wheelchair like it had personally offended him. 

“Kid, if you don’t move on your own, I’m going to have to get you into that chair myself.”

That was when Li’s head snapped up and the glare that was directed at the chair was directed at him. Ikem refused to be cowed. 

“I can walk,” Li snarled. “I’m not _weak_.”

Ikem decided to think of the implications of that later and said, slowly in order to easily retract any as needed, “I’m not doubting that, especially after everything you did. This isn’t about being strong. This is just making sure you can function well in the future.”

In the end, Ikem had to cajole him a bit more before Li grumpily sat in the chair, arms furiously crossed. 

The stubbornness didn’t end there, and Ikem thought that if he had been one of those field medics, he probably would have let Li go as well. 

Ikem was not a field medic, though, and he didn’t have that many people to heal, especially when Mio and Akio took more of his patients. So, unfortunately for Li, Ikem had the time and resources to deal with him. It helped that Ikem was also stubborn and knew how to deal with kids. 

Li certainly put up a good fight. If he wasn’t actively trying to defy Ikem or the other medics, he was quietly disobeying medical orders by always doing _something_. After Ikem had ordered him to stop walking, he had found the kid moving around by using his arms to drag him around. 

“I need to be prepared,” Li had just said as Ikem lifted him up and carried him back to his bed, wondering how the hell he had made it out to the courtyard on his arms and how no one had seen him. “I was _training_.”

When Ikem ordered him not to get out of bed, and to call if he needed to go to the bathroom or eat, he had come back to find Li reading a book with a neat stack of books and a pile of scrolls nearby. Books and scrolls that had definitely not been in the room when Ikem had left. 

There was also paper, a few writing utensils, and scuffs marks on the floor that belonged to too many shoes and feet. All things that hadn’t been there before. 

“I didn’t leave the room,” Li said and Ikem knew he was telling the truth because the kid was an abysmal liar. 

Ikem caught the courier who was sneaking Li books a few days later. It didn’t stop the other couriers, all of whom seemed almost besotted with Li, from coming, but soon enough, Ikem had the fear of Agni put into them if they dared to so much as interfere with Li’s healing process. Though it wasn’t all needed, considering that once the couriers had learned that it could push back the healing process, most had stopped delivering items. 

Ikem hadn’t figured out a way to stop them from coming into the room to visit Li while Ikem was out, though he figured it wouldn’t be too big an issue, as long as they got Li to rest. 

Once Li was deprived of his materials—which was also not needed, considering Li had apparently memorized enough of the books and scrolls to recite them to himself—he turned to the medical journals and manuels in the room. 

Ikem hadn’t needed to find out about that for himself, because Li, upon Ikem’s entry in the evening, asked what the difference between systolic and diastolic was, because he hadn’t really understood. 

“We need to have a guard on that kid,” Ikem said after a long night of grudgingly answering Li’s medical questions. “One of you should actually pick up the weight and watch him.”

“But you do so _well_ with him, rookie,” Akio, who had been getting considerably more cheerful the more stable Li was getting, said. “He gets snarly when any of us are there.”

“First off,” Ikem said, “I have a name. And second, shouldn’t he be more familiar with all of you? I don’t think he’s even seen me before.”

“‘Noren’ is a stupid ass name and I still can’t believe your parents actually named you after a fictional character,” Akio said. “‘Rookie’ is better and actually fits.”

“That kid’s never visited this infirmary unless he was brought back unconscious,” Mio said, actually being helpful and also not making Ikem cringe in memory of the alias he had chosen in a panic-induced state. “Not very pleasant memories, I suppose. And who knows what he encountered with other medics. You being new is probably better.”

“We still should put a guard on that kid,” Ikem muttered. 

They did not, in fact, put a guard on Li. 

Which helped, considering that the third obstacle were resources, and not in the way that Ikem had thought. 

Li did need a lot of resources and medicinal care, but it hardly mattered considering that most couriers came back with, at worst, a broken bone. Those with more severe injuries always ended up in infirmaries closer to the larger cities. Ikem studiously did not think as to why Li was still here, instead of in one of those infirmaries. 

The issue that came with resources, as far as management was concerned, was not that he was using them all up, but that Li was using them at all. 

“He’s not running any messages,” Lead Courier Asa explained to him. 

“He’s had a perfect record,” Ikem shot back. “And he delivered all of the 41st’s letters.”

Asa looked at the ground and then murmured a small prayer for the 41st. Mentioning them tended to have that effect, and tended to buy them time. 

Not this time, it seemed. 

“Look,” Asa said. “The problem isn’t really with the medical supplies. We would have gotten those anyways and it’s good for the ointments to be used before they expire. It’s the bed space.”

“Aren’t there several empty places in the dorms?” Ikem asked. 

Asa let out a long sigh. “Yeah,” they said, “but _they_ don’t care about that.”

“So you’re just going to—”

“He needs to move out of the courier’s dorms,” Asa said, emphasizing each word. “But he can still receive medical care, so if there was _perhaps_ an empty room or even bunk that he could be given, that would be fine.”

It took Ikem an embarrassingly long moment to get it. He then went to go clean out his rooms as quickly as he could. 

It was in the late evening that Ikem finally got to talk to the kid about moving. Because of course it was him who had to talk to Li about it. 

“You’re the one who usually takes him back to the dorms,” Mio said when Ikem was discussing what Asa said to him, “so not only is that an ample opportunity to talk, but it’s also _your_ rooms he’s going to be living in. It only makes sense.”

Ikem was outvoted and so here he was, in the semi-darkness, ready to talk to a kid about moving from dorms he was probably familiar with to a new place. 

It looked like Li was asleep, and so Ikem treaded quietly, hands reaching out to wake him up. 

Of course that was when Li lashed out at him. 

_At least it wasn’t with his injured arm_ and _Alright, Mio was right when she said that he could probably kill me_ were what Ikem thought as he stumbled back. Ikem couldn’t see well in the light, but he could tell Li was glaring at him. He could also tell that Li had a scalpel in his hand. Ikem thought that sharp materials were not accessible from the futons. Then again, it would just be like Li to have gotten one somehow. 

Ikem let out a long sigh. He was _really_ going to need to talk to the couriers who visited Li.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Li said, breaking the silence that had settled, “I’m not going to make it easy.”

“Wha—no. _No_ , I’m not going to kill you,” Ikem said, baffled. “I literally became a medic so no one would have to die.”

Ikem swore he heard a snort. “Then why are you here?”

“To bring you back to your actual bed, like I often do?” Ikem asked. 

“You were talking with the other medics.” Li did something to the word _medics_ , like it was a curse, or a dirty word, or something in general that was so revolting that he could barely stomach saying the word. Ikem couldn’t help but feel miffed. If it wasn’t for medics, the kid would be dead. 

“About medicinal stuff.”

“You were talking about me,” Li continued and Ikem was definitely _not_ going to let any of the other couriers come visit him. 

“Fine,” Ikem admitted. “We were. But it was about moving you.”

Ikem was definitely not imagining the scoff that came this time around. He also was not imagining Li _standing up_ like he had any business to be up and about. Ikem moved towards him in a rush and Li actually _growled_ at him. 

Ikem for a moment, was reminded of a stray dog that he and Ursa had found, back when they were kids. It had been stuck in a trap, and snarling at anyone that came near. Going straight at it to get it free hadn’t helped the situation either. The dog had been too scared. 

Ikem took a few steps back, raising his hands. 

“Just sit back down and I’ll stay this far away,” Ikem said quietly. “You’re putting too much pressure on your feet, and with your injuries, that’s not good at all.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Li said stubbornly, though Ikem bet that it did and Li was just ignoring it. Li seemed to be too good at ignoring pain.

“It doesn’t matter if it hurts or not. Either way, it’s bad if you stand on them.” Ikem took a few more steps back, hands still unclenched and visible. 

He waited, and Li eventually sat back down. 

“We were talking about moving you to the medic’s dorms, because you won’t be allowed to stay for much longer in the courier’s dorms,” Ikem said when Li seemed calm. “But I wasn’t going to take you there tonight.”

“If I’m not allowed in the courier’s dorm, then why am I going to the medic’s?” 

“Because you’re not well enough to be couriering—”

“I _can_.”

Ikem waited a few moments before responding. 

“I’m not doubting that you can,” Ikem said. “Just in the long run, it’s better if you get more healing time.”

Healing time that was at least two months, and not just a cumulative total of a week and a half that had been rudely interrupted by _trekking all over the Fire Nation_. But Li probably wouldn’t appreciate that statement, so Ikem kept that part to himself. 

“It’s better,” Ikem continued when Li didn’t react, “because if you get to heal for longer, you’ll be able to do the things you could before more easily.”

“Ok,” Li conceded after a while, “but what does that have to do with moving?”

“They don’t want you staying in the courier’s dorm if you’re not couriering,” Ikem said, “and there’s space in the medic’s dorm. You can stay there until you’re well enough to either go back to couriering or go back to your family.”

Considering what couriering had done to this kid, Ikem personally hoped he never returned to it. Considering the look on Li’s face, though, he didn’t think going back to his family was an option.

Softly, Ikem asked, “Do you have someone we can contact? Or anyone you want to contact or go back to?”

Li was looking at him and Ikem wished there was more light so he could read his expression. Ikem waited and Li shook his head. 

“An orphanage, perhaps?” Ikem asked, racking his mind to think of anyone the kid could have a connection to. “Or friends?”

Li shook his head once again before rasping, “There’s nowhere and no one.”

This was going to be an issue. This was going to be an issue that Ikem was going to think about later, because there were enough issues in the present moment. 

“Alright,” Ikem said. “So we can move you to the medic’s dorm until you’re better again. Does that sound alright?”

“I spend most my time in the infirmary anyways,” Li muttered, which was not a yes or a no, but was good enough for Ikem. 

“Okay. Can I come closer?”

Li’s guard was up again, if the way his body tensed was any indication. “Why?”

Ikem tilted his head to the wheelchair. “It’s time to go back to the courier’s dorm. We can move either tomorrow or the day after that. Can I come closer?”

“... I can get in the wheelchair by myself.”

Ikem didn’t try to argue that point. Li reminded him not only of the stray dog caught in the trap, but of the trap itself, one where you didn’t quite know how far you could go without triggering it. Ikem figured he had tread far enough for tonight. 

Li transferred himself to the wheelchair, and as always, was tense when in the chair. Ikem didn’t comment on it, and allowed the kid to get off the wheelchair and struggle onto his futon by himself. 

Ikem left then, went to his own room, and had bizarre dreams of scorched letters and dogs with too many teeth, whose teeth tore into their own flesh. 

They moved Li out the next day, and while Ikem did not like the entourage that Li had amassed, he admitted it was useful for transferring Li’s items. Not that there was much stuff that Li actually owned, but he had been borrowing a lot of books lately. 

“Am I… am I sharing with you?” Li asked when he noticed that Ikem had not left the room. 

Ikem realized he had left that part out of their conversation and nodded. 

Li did not say anything about the arrangement, but Ikem noticed that night as he went to sleep that Li’s body seemed too rigid to be asleep. 

He also noticed that the kid had a lot of quiet nightmares. 

At first, Ikem had tried to ignore it, because he knew the kid didn’t like anyone getting close and he was already setting the kid half off by being in the same living space. 

Then he thought about all the times he wished he had someone to wake him up from his nightmares, and Ikem didn’t even have the death and destruction that was the war front in his dreams.

Ikem was right and Li really did not appreciate Ikem waking him up, automatically lashing out again. Ikem ducked out of the way, offered him a glass of water and a clean tunic. 

Li looked at him furtively as he drank and watched him even more so as Ikem helped him change, maneuvering the sleeves around Li’s bandaged arm and around his sling. Ikem then went back to bed, turning so his back was to Li. 

He didn’t hear any sounds of nightmares for the rest of the night.

The pros of having Li in the medic’s dorm was that it was a lot harder for the couriers to sneak in and out without Ikem catching them. The cons was that the couriers seemed to visit Li _more_ now that he had moved. 

One time, Ikem had managed to eavesdrop on a meeting, and it sounded like Li was instructing them on how to be a courier. Which made little sense, considering very few of the couriers present were new. 

It made more sense when Li supplied his lessons with stories that made Ikem wonder how the hell the kid was still alive. 

“So how’s the kid doing?” Akio asked when Ikem was getting dinner with him and the other medics one night. 

Ikem scowled at them. “Maybe you’d know if you actually cared enough to help.”

Akio winced and Ikem felt vaguely guilty. 

“You’re doing _great_ with him,” Akio said, trying to sound like it was a joke, but failing. Ikem furiously thought of anything he could do to change the subject. 

“And I’m sure you’re doing _great_ with your girlfriend,” he said and Akio put on a look of mock-hurt, catching onto his drift quickly.

“The breakup was _mutual_ ,” Akio said. 

“I was _there_ ,” Mio said. “She’s the one who dumped you.” 

Akio muttered something and Mio turned red. 

“What?” Ikem asked. 

“Nothing,” Mio hissed. 

“How about you ask about Mio’s special someone?” Akio asked, leaning back in his chair “Just a suggestion.”

Ikem raised his brows. “Mio, you have a—”

“I have nothing,” Mio blurted out. 

“Really?” Akio asked. “Didn’t look that way to—”

Mio shoved her hand on top of Akio’s mouth, before shrieking and jerking it away. 

“You _licked_ me,” she said, staring at her hand then at Akio. 

Akio shrugged. 

“You should bring your girlfriend over at some time, though,” Akio said. “We can give her the shovel talk.”

Mio groaned and buried her face in her arms. 

Akio shot Ikem a grin. “So do _you_ have a special someone?”

Ikem’s mind blanked. “What.”

“Girlfriend, boyfriend, theyfriend…” Akio wiggled his eyebrows and Ikem swallowed hard. 

“I had a girlfriend, a while ago,” he said. “Proposed to her and everything.”

“You’re _married?_ ” Akio asked with glee. Mio swatted him with a frown. She was always the more socially conscious of the two.

“Was going to be,” Ikem said. “It, uh. It couldn’t work out. This rich asshole got married to her instead.”

Akio’s face fell. “Dude, that fucking sucks.”

Mio patted Ikem on the back. “I mean, if she left you—”

“She didn’t,” Ikem cut in. “I don’t know why it happened, but I know she didn’t want to marry him.”

“Oh shit,” Mio said. 

“Yeah,” Ikem muttered. A heavy awkwardness fell over them and Ikem left early to try and clear his head. 

Which of course led to him not being able to stop thinking about it because the fact of the matter was that even after thirteen years, Ikem he still loved Ursa. He was really quite pathetic, especially when he imagined lives in which _he_ got to marry Ursa. And, because he had always wanted kids, a life where Ursa’s children were his own. 

Admittedly, that was borderline creepy, imagining children who already existed was easier than imagining children who could never exist. It also wasn’t as if anyone would ever know, or like he thought about those dreams often. It _had_ been thirteen years after all, and especially in the beginning, Ikem had taken solace in the daydreams. 

Part of it was that it was easy to pretend. Princess Azula looked more like her mother than Ozai and if he ignored what was said of her temperament, then he could easily imagine a life where she was his daughter. 

Prince Zuko was a bit harder, and not only for the fact that he had died at the too young age of ten. He had taken after his father in appearance, though Ikem often worked around it by pretending that he actually looked like a distant relative on Ursa’s side. Him apparently being nothing like Ozai helped in that regard. 

In his dreams, they sometimes traveled with acting troupes, both Princess Azula and Prince Zuko participating, having a great love of theatre like their parents. In other fantasies, after Ursa got pregnant, they would settle down, either in Hira’a or somewhere close to a beach. Princess Azula always had a better temperament, having grown up in an environment where her role models weren’t war criminals. Prince Zuko would have lived past ten. Ursa would smile and laugh so much more often. 

He liked to play all the different ways those lives could go when he was feeling particularly lonely or jealous of Ozai.

That wasn’t why he was thinking of them now. Tonight, he could only see all the flaws. 

If Princess Azula was his, Princess Azula wouldn’t have been her name. She wouldn’t have been named after the Fire Lord because there was no need to. If Prince Zuko was his, there was no way he could pass as solely taking after Ursa’s side. Besides, he didn’t even know much about Prince Zuko, considering the kid had died when he was _ten_. At any rate, neither of them would have been firebenders, because both Ikem and Ursa were nonbenders. 

There was also the fact that Ozai could have come regardless of if Ikem had gotten to marry Ursa first. He had wanted Ursa for a reason, a reason that went outside of looks or acting abilities since the prince had not even been in the area before he took Ursa. Whatever the reason was, it would have still existed, and in his dreams, Ozai would inevitably come and take Ursa away. 

And this time, could Ikem go and fight like he had that day? Prince Zuko and Princess Azula would be, at most, not much older than toddlers, if Ozai waited two years for Princess Azula to be born after Prince Zuko. Ikem wouldn’t just abandon them, if they were his children, even if it was to get Ursa back. 

And what if the royal family found out about them? Would they spare them? What if Prince Zuko and Princess Azula ended up being taken as well? What if Ikem was doomed to have any chance of a family taken away from him?

Ikem turned so that he faced the wall and almost growled. Of course his last form of indulgent escape would be reduced to the stupid fantasy that it was. It was bad enough when he could no longer see plays without the bitter ache of memories. It was worse now that he couldn’t even run away in his own mind. 

Ikem felt someone poke him, and he turned over slowly. 

It was Li. He was holding a glass of water and a clean tunic. Ikem blinked for a long moment, wondering how Li had gotten up and gotten those things without Ikem noticing, and Li took that time to shove the water at him. 

Ikem took the water. He also took the tunic. 

“You shouldn’t be walking,” Ikem said after changing and downing the rest of the glass. 

“I’ll need to start walking again at some point,” Li said quietly. “I checked them the other day. They’re doing better.”

Ikem frowned. “Can I check?”

It took Li a while to answer, but he eventually nodded. 

Ikem checked his feet and the stitches on them. Like Li had said, they were getting better, and at a rate that shouldn’t have been possible. 

Ikem suppressed a frown and decided to focus on disinfecting them again, before wrapping them back up and turning to Li’s face. 

“Can I take those off?” he asked. 

The following, “Okay,” could barely be heard. 

Neither of them went back to sleep that night. Ikem worked on Li’s face, and when all check ups were done, the two of them just sat until morning came. 

“Get some rest,” Ikem said, pushing himself up when the sun rose. 

“I can’t now,” Li said. 

Ikem furrowed his brows. “Why not?”

“Firebenders rise with the sun,” Li said, as if he was talking to a very small child. 

Oh. _Oh_. 

That, at least, explained why he was recovering faster. 

“Stay in bed, at least,” Ikem said. “You can read a bit, if you want to, though.” 

“Where are you going?” Li asked. 

“I have some work to do,” Ikem said. 

“Like what?” Li asked.

Finding out why Ikem just learned his patient was a firebender when he really should have been informed as soon as possible was the answer. 

“Boring paperwork,” was what Ikem said, and he readied himself for a barrage of questions. Li, instead, just nodded once and turned to the books and scrolls near him. 

Ikem wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he had just passed a test of a kind. 

A pattern soon established itself afterward. Sometimes, it would be Li waking Ikem up from a bad dream. More often than not, it would be Ikem waking Li up. 

They never commented on it in the morning. What happened at night stayed in that time, it seemed. 

The effects of it did not, though. Ikem noticed that Li had stopped tensing up as much around him. It wasn’t trust or even tolerance, but perhaps familiarity. Li was still flighty when it came to touch, but there was little need for those outside of check ups. 

A month and a half after the massacre of the 41st and about ten days after Li had first arrived back to the dorms, Ikem removed the stitches on Li’s feet. Mio and Akio had been there to help with some aspects of the procedure. 

“So I can walk without you getting mad,” Li said afterwards. 

“Not for too long,” Ikem said, and then added, “and with crutches and shoes.”

Li scowled at the last requirement. 

“I’ll need to be getting used to going barefoot again,” Li said. 

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Feet are better for grip.” Li glared at the ground. “And I don’t like shoes.”

“It’s for your recovery,” Ikem said. “Unless you want bandages again?”

Li took the bandages. Ikem was glad he also took the crutches without complaint.

Ikem didn’t wake to a poke or the sound of muffled nightmares. He woke to the sound of something—some _one_ —crashing.

It was Li. Of course it was. Ikem cursed softly before lighting a lamp so he could actually _see_. 

Li was looking up at him, a terrified gleam in his eyes. His crutches were askew on the floor, but he didn’t seem to have torn anything open. 

“What happened?” Ikem asked. 

“I just wanted to go to the bathroom,” Li said, his words more defensive than they should have been. 

“You could have asked me for help,” Ikem said, rubbing his face tiredly. He stopped abruptly when he heard strangled breaths. 

Li was crying. Or at least, he was trying not to. 

“I have to—I have to walk _sometime_ ,” Li managed to gasp out. 

“It doesn’t have to be now,” Ikem said, trying to figure out Li’s reaction. 

“It needs to be sooner, not _later_.” Li took a few moments to get his breathing under control. “At this rate, I’ll never—I’ll—I’ll ne—never—”

“Never?” Ikem prompted after a few moments. 

“I’ll _never_ get around to walking, or getting used to being half blind and half deaf, or _anything_ ,” Li yelled, shoulders shaking and the sobs renewing. 

Ikem stared before wanting to smack himself in the head. 

Somehow, through all the stubbornness and mind boggling actions, through the casual defiance and familiarity, Ikem had forgotten that this _child_ was half blinded, had lost half his hearing, and would not be able to walk long distances for a while. 

Ikem, _somehow_ , missed all the signs that Li, while his body was healing, was still fucking dealing with the effects of an incredibly traumatic event. And that was pushing aside everything else Li had experienced on the front. 

Ikem, despite knowing Li had frequent nightmares and knowing Li was struggling, didn’t make the damn _connection_. 

It was better that he realized this sooner rather than later, but it really should not have taken Ikem this long. 

“Can I come closer?” Ikem asked. 

He scooted a bit closer when no response came and Li didn’t even look at him. 

Ikem contemplated the situation for a few moments and then slowly, so Li could push him away if he wanted to, he wrapped his arms around the boy and brought him closer. 

It was certainly an awkward hug. Li didn’t fight it—Ikem thought he might have leaned in a bit—but he also wasn’t hugging back and he was as stiff as a rod. Still, Ikem held him and rocked slightly, trying to find some sort of comfort he could give Li. 

Thirteen was still so young, and it didn’t matter that Li acted so mature at times. He shouldn’t have been in that battle and he should definitely have never been out at the front at ten. 

Li should have been in school, worrying about tests and maybe how his parents would ground him for some action that kids usually did but parents detested. He should have been hanging out with his friends. He should have been _safe_. 

Ikem bit his lip and continued rocking gently and rubbing Li’s back until the boy eventually fell asleep. He maneuvered Li back into bed and stayed awake, watching through the entire night for nightmares. 

They almost didn’t talk about it in the morning. 

Almost. 

Ikem sighed. “Kid?” 

Li looked at Ikem and tilted his head. “Yeah?”

Alright, maybe Ikem wasn’t going to go about this as directly as he had planned. 

“You don’t have to worry about having a place to stay,” Ikem said, slowly. “Even if you never go back to couriering, you’re still welcome here.”

Li’s visible eye narrowed. “I _am_ going to go back.”

“I know,” Ikem said, and he did know. Li was just that stubborn. “But if there comes a time when you can’t, or you need some place to stay, you can stay here.”

Li scowled. “That’s what _you_ say.”

“Am I a liar?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Li said, crossing his arms the best he could with a sling. “You won’t be here all the time.”

“If I have to leave and you’re away, I’ll leave a message for you when you come back,” Ikem said reasonably. “The message will have a place to go if you need it.”

“Why?”

Ikem blinked. “Why what?”

“Why do you—” Li gestured around as if searching for the word. “Why are you offering?”

“You deserve to have some place to go,” Ikem said and Li’s face fell before re-constructing itself into an angrier picture. 

“You don’t even _know_ me,” Li said. “And I don’t know _you_.”

“I don’t need to know you and your history to offer you a safe place to stay,” Ikem said. “And this is just an option. You don’t have to come, and you can go find another place, if you don’t want to stay at mine. I just… having an option open is always good. So this is that option.”

Li’s face screwed up. “But _why_?”

Ikem had the sinking feeling that the two of them were in two different conversations. “Why what?”

“ _Why_?” Li asked again, like that was supposed to convey the depth of everything he wanted to know. 

Ikem scratched his cheek. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, because the only thing I can think of is why I’m offering, but I already told you that.”

“No, you didn’t,” Li said in a rush. “You wouldn’t just _offer_ because you don’t even know me and you don’t—what would I even do for you?”

“What?” It came out harsher than Ikem had meant and Li winced. Ikem took some deep breaths and in a softer voice, said, “You don’t need to do anything for me.”

“That’s bullshit.” 

“It’s not,” Ikem said and then repeated, “You don’t need to do _anything_ for me. Nothing at all.”

Li still looked like he disbelieved Ikem and Ikem tried to figure out a way he could get Li to understand. 

“Those soldiers,” he said eventually, “why did you save them?”

Li glared at him and Ikem continued. “Did you save them so they could do something for you?”

Li looked at him like he was stupid. “ _No_.”

“It’s the same here,” Ikem said. “I’m not helping you so you can do something for me.”

“But I’m not dying,” Li said. “It’s a different situation.”

“The concept is the same.”

“No it isn’t,” Li said. “They didn’t get a choice in the matter, and they almost died. It was war. This isn’t war, I get a choice, and I’m not about to die.”

Ikem resisted the urge to groan. “The concept is that you can do things for others without demanding something in return.” 

Li took a moment to think about that, and Ikem almost thought that the kid understood. 

“So you’ll feel better about yourself if you offer?” Li asked at last, and Ikem almost hit his head in frustration.

“I’ll feel better if you have a place to stay,” Ikem said firmly. “And if you’re not alone.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because good people care. Good people care about other people.” Ikem gesticulated almost wildly. “And I’d like to think I’m at least a decent person. So I care.”

“That still sounds fake,” Li said, still looking skeptical.

One day, Ikem swore, he’d get Li to see that it wasn’t fake. For now, though, he’d settle for Li not actively protesting the idea and feeling comfortable enough to voice his opinions.

“We can talk about it more later,” Ikem said, “but for now, we should probably start to practice walking again.”

Li’s eyes lit up, before turning suspicious. “You said that I shouldn’t.”

“You have been healing quickly,” Ikem admitted, “and it won’t be _long_ distances. Short ones, so we can build up tolerance. That sort of stuff. So take your—”

Li had already grabbed his crutches and was furiously making his way out of the room. Ikem huffed slightly and followed him. 

&&&

Noren didn’t try and stop him from going outside, only reminding him that he should take it slow and shouldn’t strain himself too much.

Zuko barely heard him, especially when that conversation was still resounding in his head. 

_Good people care about other people_. Zuko didn’t know whether to laugh at it or tentatively believe it. He wasn’t a prince now, so it didn’t really seem like Noren would be manipulating him. There was no reason to. 

Then again, Azula always said that Zuko couldn’t tell a lie from the truth and that he was the most gullible and naive person around, so maybe there _was_ something for Noren to gain and Zuko was just too stupid to figure it out. 

It didn’t erase the fact that Zuko wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that Noren was a good person and that good people cared about other people. Zuko hadn’t believed that in so long, but he wanted to. 

There was even evidence now: the couriers, who did things for him without him asking and without asking for anything in return, and Noren, who had woken him up from nightmares and didn’t press him about them or expect him not to have them. 

Noren, who wasn’t like other medics Zuko had encountered. 

It didn’t erase the fact that Noren could turn into one. 

Zuko swallowed, his smile fading as he slowed down. 

“How are you feeling?” Noren asked when he caught up. “Enough for today, or do you want to do more now?”

Zuko shifted in place, trying not to put too much pressure on his feet. They hurt more than he would like to admit, but they were doing better than they had on the road. Not that Zuko had really noticed when on the road, because there were a million other hurt things to think about. Or not think about, really, since Zuko couldn’t really recall thinking about anything on the road, except for the fact that _eleven thousand and_ —

“Enough, then?” Noren’s voice cut in, scattering his thoughts. Zuko kept his eyes trained on the ground and after a moment of deliberation, nodded. 

“We’ll go out a bit more tomorrow,” Noren said, leading Zuko back inside. He looked up briefly and saw that Noren was smiling. Not only that, he was smiling at Zuko. 

Zuko stared for a long moment before ducking his head down again. It wasn’t the first time Noren had smiled nor the first time he had directed that smile at Zuko, but it still caught Zuko off guard every time he noticed it. 

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it just as he didn’t think he’d ever fully understand why Noren acted the way that he did or really move past the massacre of the 41st. 

But, moving around on his own now with his wounds hurting, but hurting with the pain that came with healing, he thought that maybe, just maybe, that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so september is something called a hell month for me, which means i'm probably not going to be updating *any* of my stories until mid october (rip me) and because i answer comments when i post an update, if you want more interaction or whatever, just talk to me on my tumblr (@mag026).
> 
> also i love how i'm one out of the four works with the Jeong Jeong & Zuko tag and the only work with the Ikem & Zuko tag.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for just like. disappearing for almost three months now. *waves hand at school as an explanation*. anyways have fun with this 18k chapter after some notes. 
> 
> 1) Thanks to those who pointed out that the switch from Ikem to Noren was confusing; there's stuff i miss when editing these mega long chapters, so in general, if something is confusing/there's a typo/whatever, just lmk. preferably constructively, so not like "this chapter sucks." (none of you have done that, i'm just putting this out there). from now on i'm going to try and respond to things more quickly, so i can fix mistakes quicker, but i may not always be able to because *waves hand at school*
> 
> 2) shout out to @eringeosphere because we have a canon character appearing much earlier than he does in canon due to their comment. 
> 
> 3) Haven't found a definite answer as to the FN's inspirations, so I'm just going to be taking what I know and going off of that. This doesn't mean much for you except I'm planning to address colonialism/imperialism more and in the end notes, I'll have explanations as to what real world things/events I used or referenced. Also, because I'm not a part of the main cultures ATLA is based off of, feel free to lmk when/if I overstep or get something wrong.
> 
> 4) This is for a future chapter, but since brown is the best eye color and changing colors are an awesome indicator of magic, eyes in my atla fics are for the most part brown. if you're a bender, your eyes change to their respective color and if you naturally have a non-brown eye color, things are Interesting for you.

Courier Li was legendary. There was just no other way to describe him. 

His exploits and errands were so unexpected and theoretically implausible that “extraordinary” didn’t even begin to describe them, and while stories changed as they passed from person to person, stories of Courier Li were always changed to be _more realistic_. 

Courier Li was not defined by what people thought was realistic or not. Courier Li was so far past public expectations that he may have well been in space. In that sense, he belonged more in a novel or play than he did in real life. 

But here he was, among mortals, and instead of the countless honors that should have been given to his name, he only had fame among the couriers and the vast majority of the common people. 

On one hand, it felt fitting for the people to be the ones who recognized him, because Courier Li always felt more of and for the people than he did a servant of the military or nobility. 

On the other hand, some, like Kuzon of Kaijin, really, really wished that Li would at least get _acknowledged_ by someone with power. 

Kuzon could understand why Li had flown under the radar for so long. Li was a courier, after all, and since he had no hometown or family to speak of, he seemed more like a collective phenomenon than an actual person.

Kuzon would know how that felt, because while he now followed Li’s stories with an energy comparable to fanaticism, he had first been a disbeliever. There just wasn’t any way for anyone in the names of all that Agni touched to be able to do everything Courier Li had done. Kuzon had thought they were just embellished tales of a number of couriers named Li. 

That was all before Kuzon had been transferred to Courier Li’s main dorms and dared into listening in on Li’s reports. Kuzon, always ready to call out a bluff, went along, ready to learn the truth of the situation with so much directness the other couriers were startled. Only it hadn’t been a bluff, and after hearing the blunt honesty that report and every other since had been delivered with, all without a hint of boasting, Kuzon was single-handedly changed into a believer.

So yeah, Kuzon understood why Li would be thought to be a myth or otherwise fake. But with his involvement in something so massive as the massacre of the 41st, it was frankly ridiculous. 

As the case was with Li and anything he participated in, there were many different stories. 

The official story was this: the 41st Division was unfortunately attacked and then cruelly slaughtered by a band of earthbenders. Only ten of that division made it out of the battle alive, and most were helped by an unnamed courier. 

The story, in whispers Kuzon had just managed to catch, was this: there was a division, largely made up of new recruits, Colony-born soldiers, and people who had perhaps voiced an opinion too loudly, and they were attacked by an earthbender division from the rear. The earthbender division was eventually attacked by a waiting Fire Nation division, one that pushed the earthbenders back towards the front with so much fire, some were thought to have been utterly cremated. It was a tactic which, while brutal and ultimately effective, crushed the chance of survival for the vast majority of whoever was left of the 41st. After the battle was over, there were only ten survivors of that ill-fated division, and most were saved by a boy who, according to all codes and regulations, should have left. 

The story, in thoughts lept to, was this: the 41st could not have been attacked from the rear unless Fire Nation troops had let them pass or news had been concealed. The last courier to the 41st Division had collected the letters of all the soldiers in the 41st, barely a day before the attack, in fact, he had insisted that _everyone_ write something. The last courier had come to the 41st because he had been delivering something, not because he was going to carry letters back to families. The last courier had to have known what was going to happen, and the only way to have known was if it was planned.

And in that case, there was only one side that could have put out the order. 

Here was the thing: Kuzon knew that sometimes, the Fire Nation did send out troops or squads as bait, and sometimes, those soldiers never came back. Kuzon knew that this was war, and there were hard choices to be made all around. But any soldiers that had been sacrificed were always congrulated for their sacrifice and dedication, and given honor upon honor. 

The 41st was an _entire division_ , and Kuzon was already having a hard enough time trying to figure out what exactly would justify their deaths without the added fact that if it had been planned by the Fire Nation, then something would have been _said_.

And if that hadn’t been enough to process, someone leaked word that it was Courier Li who was the boy that saved seven members of the 41st. Then, the story spread like a wildfire and it was impossible to go through a day without learning something supposedly new about the massacre. 

Kuzon hadn’t been surprised when he heard about Li, because it felt almost fitting that Courier Li, who had done so many impossible things, had been present during the impossibility of the century: the Fire Nation sacrificing their own with little discernible reason or care.

What had been surprising was the lack of official acknowledgement towards Li by the government or military, despite the fact that the rumor mill was really working over time. 

For fuck’s sake, Kuzon had overheard captains and majors talking about Courier Li, and according to the other couriers, they had heard from servants that Li was being discussed in the nobility as well. The entire Fire Nation had to know that Li was involved by now, and they had to know that what happened with the 41st was suspicious and definitely not just an “unfortunate accident,” and yet, there was no word from _anyone_ about what actually happened. 

Kuzon and the other couriers in the Courier Li Club had been holding out for Li’s report, but that had been before Li had returned, limping his way through the gates, literally dripping blood and carrying the faint smell of burnt flesh. 

Then, they had been holding out for when Li got stable enough so that they could visit. Not to get information, but just to try and help in some way. 

Chiyo and a number of the other couriers had thought it was a stupid idea, considering they were a _fan club_ and Li had just been through something horribly traumatizing, but then Kukrit, who was the unofficial president of the club, pointed out that being isolated after a horribly traumatizing event with no semblance of a support network was also not the best situation. 

That had convinced Chiyo, and they had all waited a few days, careful not to stare at Li in the meantime. Then, after the main surgeries were over, their plan to approach Li proceed. 

At least, Kuzon had assumed there was an actual plan to meet Li in a way that didn’t paint them as creepy followers or anything. 

The plan, communicated to Kuzon approximately a minute before they entered the infirmary, was to shunt Kuzon up to the front to talk to him. 

“You’re the newest addition here,” the others told him. “Act incompetent or something.” 

Kuzon very much did not appreciate that and all its implications, but the sheer terror he had felt when talking to Li did help with his cover. How else would he have forgotten about his _gear?_

Li had first given out fairly obvious advice, but then his experience in the field started to show, and Li was telling him things that would have never occurred to Kuzon. The fact that Li meshed his lessons with personal experience certainly helped, because Kuzon had the pleasure of learning that Li’s reports tended to leave out about half the shenanigans he got into.

The little lessons were all simple things, like “So that’s why you should always watch how you wear your bag,” or “That’s why you should keep the letters ordered,” or even just “And that’s why you should carry a knife.” And it was all said as if Li hadn’t casually been talking about something Kuzon had literally thought _impossible_ and that left him wondering whether Li was a spirit or not, and if not, how he was even fucking alive. 

Because even knowing that Li was telling the truth was barely enough to keep him from walking out, some days. And on those days, there was only one thing that kept him listening, and that was the fundamental gratification that came with the fact that Noren was as, if not more, concerned and confused whenever he heard Li’s stories. 

Noren, Kuzon guessed, hadn’t really quite grasped _who_ Courier Li was and what he had done, and it was always satisfying seeing him struggle to grasp the enormity of Li’s exploits. _Especially_ considering the fact that Noren had the most annoying habit of barring them access to Li. 

“Well,” Li said after they brought that issue up with him, “it’s good practice for stealth.”

And then he ended up talking about how he had to sneak through an Earth Kingdom camp site. Not around it. Not climbing above it. Not hiding in one place as the troops passed by. Sneaking, on the ground, through a stationed Earth Kingdom camp site. 

Noren’s face, after he walked in about halfway through the story, was particularly fantastic. 

Him chasing them out before Li could continue wasn’t so much. 

&&&

As much as Akio was sure that Noren wanted to exclusively handle Li, Noren _did_ have to fulfill his patient quota, and considering the kid required supervision, if only so his wounds wouldn’t reopen, they had made a shift for watching him. 

Which meant that it was currently Akio’s turn to watch Li and suddenly, all of Noren’s moody episodes made sense. 

Courier Li, who was the paragon of the courier system, was an absolute _nightmare_ of a patient. 

Akio knew that Li was stubborn, especially when it came to how he perceived his health, but Akio hadn’t quite been aware of how far Li’s tendencies to try to overexert himself and leave the infirmary went. 

As surprises went, they were quite unwelcome ones. 

“I’m better,” repeated the kid, who still had massive burn scars and broken bones, over and over again. “I can go outside.” 

“The schedule is that you get to go outside every other day,” repeated Akio so many times that it was almost reflex at this point. “Today is the off day. You need to rest, and the quiet will be good for you.”

Sometimes, Li would acquiesce, either through mumbling and not bringing the topic up for another hour, or with a sharp burst of a yell telling Akio _fine_ , he didn’t need to go out _anyways_. Which always led Akio to either thank the spirits or to beg them to save him from the same conversation that would inevitably happen later in the day. 

More frequently, though, Li would just fall silent and when Akio’s back was turned, try to leave. That was always unpleasant, especially since it caused Akio to realize that he couldn’t exactly trust the other couriers. Some wouldn’t help Li, because they were smart kids, but others took Li at his word when he said he was “better” and tried to help him escape. Most of the time, Akio had to physically drag Li back. 

Akio never had much interaction with Li before, but he knew enough to know of Li’s aversion to adults. Akio felt almost guilty, then, for dragging Li back, because he knew that Li was no doubt uncomfortable. 

He didn’t know exactly why Li was like this, whether it was from military officials and soldiers he’d encountered or the parents who had surrendered him to the courier program, but it wasn’t as if it mattered. Akio, either way, couldn’t do anything to change what had happened. 

In a sense, Akio was glad of Li’s constant pestering. The fact that Li felt secure enough to actually yell or be anything other than obedient was good, even if it was a surprise that impulsive and hot-headed Noren was the one who initiated that change. 

On the other hand, Akio had known enough kids for whom talking back was as much of a defense mechanism as being passive was for others. On the other hand, all of Li’s words confirmed how abysmal he was of taking care of himself, and the fact that he would hide his wounds, given the opportunity. On the other hand, it proved that the Fire Nation had made a good little courier who would do anything for it. 

Perhaps it was good that these problems were being revealed, but the more and more Akio saw of them, the more he wanted to just break down. He wanted to just look Li straight in the eyes and tell him that he wasn’t okay, he wasn’t fine, and he wouldn’t be for a while. It was alright, Akio wanted to say, he could admit that, and they would actually help him. He wasn’t a problem or burden for them. 

And the more that Akio saw the strokes of the picture being put together, the more he wanted to find whoever had a part in doing this to Li and use his fists until the culprits were bloodied and bruised. 

But Akio knew none of that would help. He wasn’t close to Li, not like Noren was, though Akio doubted that even Noren saying these things would make them stick. And violence hardly solved or abated anything. The only things that Akio could actually do to help were being patient and being a stable presence. 

“Sitting outside can’t be too bad,” Li piped up.

Patience would help. If only Akio actually had much of it. 

Akio let out a long breath and said, because giving Li this one victory meant he’d push harder on other fronts, “It’ll be much better for you if you stay and try to rest.”

Li scowled and turned his gaze towards the window. Akio did not miss Li’s small flinch as the scowl accidentally pulled on his burn. 

Akio chewed the inside of his cheek, and, after a moment, said, “If you don’t think you can sleep, I can get you a scroll to read instead.”

Li threw a cautious glance at Akio and Akio suddenly had no idea what to do with himself or how to make himself look a little less threatening. Not that he thought that he ever looked threatening, but Li was assessing him with such a wary look that Akio thought he had to be doing something wrong. 

“What kind of scrolls?” Li asked so quietly that Akio almost missed it. 

“Plays, mostly.” Akio blinked. “Do you have one you want to read? We might have it.”

Akio had to strain to hear Li’s response. 

“ _Love Amongst the Dragons_.”

“I think we have it,” Akio said. “Don’t get up while I’m gone.” 

Li nodded, but Akio hurried to the storage room anyways because Li would get into _something_ when the utmost attention wasn’t being paid to him. 

Akio sifted through a donation box, pursing his lips as he searched. He knew that a copy of the play was in here, because he had been there when it was decided that the play was all together too sappy for older teenagers and young adults. If Akio was honest, he didn’t like the play all that much, but Li was only thirteen and if he wanted a sappy play, so be it. 

Besides, Akio thought with a smile, it’d be pretty funny to tell Noren that the kid loved the play that Noren’s namesake was a character in. 

It took a few more minutes, but Akio finally found the play and rushed back to the infirmary. It didn’t look like Li had moved while he was gone, but Akio could never be sure. 

“Here we go,” Akio said, handing the play over. “We did have it.” 

The eye that Akio could see was wide as Li grabbed the scroll and started to scan it. 

“Woah, it’s a first edition copy as well,” Li said. 

Akio wasn’t sure exactly why that was a big deal, but the fact that Li was talking about something other than getting out of healing or his various errands was big enough for Akio to ask, “Oh?”

“Yeah, you can tell by the calligraphy,” Li said, tracing over the letters. “ _Love Amongst the Dragons_ was first produced by some anonymous commoners, and it hadn’t actually been written down. But when it started to get popular, they wrote down the basic iteration before nobles could get their hands on the story and ruin it. That’s what the first edition is. The nobles got it anyways, though, and they changed the story _a lot_ and those were the later editions. Since it was the court writers who actually recorded those editions, you can see the difference in the calligraphy.”

Li swept his index finger on the page, as if imitating the strokes of the letters. 

“So this is an original,” Li concluded, unrolling the scroll and sounding almost _happy_ as his eye devoured each word. 

“Sounds like you’ll have to take extra care of it then,” Akio said, “since it’s important.”

Li bobbed his head in a nod, and Akio suppressed a sigh. Of course he lost Li’s attention. 

“Make sure not to strain your eye,” Akio said, getting up. “You need to take breaks from reading, since your other eye is still wrapped up.” 

Li did look up this time and nodded, albeit slowly. “I can do that after each scene,” Li mused and Akio shrugged.

“As long as they aren’t too long,” Akio warned. 

Li’s lips tugged in a smile and he went straight back to the play. Plays, in Akio’s opinion, were meant to be performed and not read, but Li seemed to be able to see the events just fine. Perhaps he had seen it performed once and was remembering it now. 

It made Akio wonder if Li remembered the faces of his cousins. 

Akio quickly shut off that train of thought and busied himself with other work. 

“So how was your shift with the kid?” Mio asked that night at dinner.

“He is… very stubborn,” Akio settled for and Mio snorted before sobering up. 

“How are _you_ doing though?” 

“Just fine,” Akio said quickly. “How’s Noren dealing?”

“You’re going to have to stop avoiding my questions one of these days,” Mio said, “but fine. I’ll pretend you didn’t just use a very bad diversion. I think he’s doing fine.”

“Noren, doing fine?”

“You know what I mean,” Mio huffed. “Pretty sure he just misses his shifts with the kid.” 

“Honestly, he can take them back,” Akio muttered. 

Mio raised her brows, almost judgmentally, and Akio quickly changed the topic. “Can you tell Noren Li loves _Love Amongst the Dragons_?” 

“You could tell him yourself,” she said slowly, sounding half confused and half concerned. 

“I have the day off tomorrow,” Akio reminded her stiffly. “So you’ll be the one around Noren. I may forget it while I’m out.” 

“Yeah, alright. I’ll do it,” Mio said, and Akio didn’t look at her, in case he saw pity. 

“You know,” Mio continued, “I was supposed to go on a supply errand in a week. If you need a sort of break, you can take it instead of me.” 

“I don’t need it,” Akio said, managing a smile. “I’m fine.”

“You can choose not to answer my questions,” Mio said, “but your girlfriend did just break up with you and you’re dealing with… well, you know. You deserve a break, and since you’re not going to really take a day off, this is the next best option. Just… get out of your own head. See sights a bit.”

 _Get a break from someone who is heavily tied to the death of your cousins_ , Akio translated and immediately winced. That sounded harsh, like _Li_ was the cause of this. 

He wasn’t and this wasn’t in any way the kid’s fault. In fact, the fact that Akio was associating his own shame with him was unfair, because in the end, it was Akio’s—

“No,” Mio said sternly. “Don’t you get that guilty look on your face. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but whatever it is, either talk about it or stop thinking about it.”

“I only started looking after the kid,” Akio said, because he couldn’t talk about the real issue, not now, “and now I’m going to ditch?”

“The supply trip is in a week,” Mio pointed out, “and we have shifts for a reason. At any rate, if you don’t go, I would, and would you say that I was ditching?” 

Akio huffed slightly. “Alright, I get your point.” 

“So?” Mio asked. 

“I’ll think about it,” he said, because Mio would have to settle for that, and Akio really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. 

Mio frowned, but she didn’t press further. 

&&&

Zuko knew that he should be plotting treason or at least listening around for useful information. The dorm was located not that far away from a military training camp, so it wouldn’t be a stretch for him to ask for a trip out of town and near the base. It would certainly work better than trying to forcibly leave. 

So, instead of reading _Love Amongst the Dragons_ for the millionth time, Zuko should have been filling out the request form. He had to commit treason, he had to help sooner rather than later, and yet here he was, just wasting his time. 

“Alright,” Akio said. Akio wasn’t bad, but Zuko still preferred Noren to him. “You should probably get some rest now.” 

“I don’t need a nap,” Zuko snapped. 

“Your body does,” Akio just replied smoothly and plucked the scroll from out of his hands. 

There wasn’t anything that Zuko could do then. He laid down on the futon and picked at the bandages on his left arm a bit. 

He didn’t want to sleep. If he slept, the battlefield would come back, and all the dead soldiers would appear. He knew that some people saw him as a sort of hero for what he did, but heroes did things because they were the right thing to do. 

Zuko didn’t even know _why_ he saved those seven soldiers. Maybe he had a reason when he did it, but looking back now, he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t just gotten as far from the battle as he could. 

Looking back now, he wondered if it wouldn’t have been better if he had done that. 

What if it was decided the survivors had run from battle? Zuko had told the scouts that they all were unconscious when he took them, but only a few had been. If the truth got out, then they would die anyways, for being cowards, even though it was Zuko’s fault they had been taken from the battle. 

What about the fact that it had been Zuko who delivered the letter? Perhaps he hadn’t given the order, but it was through his hands that the order was passed, and if it wasn’t for him, him with his record speeds, then the order wouldn’t have gone through. 

What about the fact that Zuko didn’t even remember the event clearly anymore? It was bad enough that the words of all the letters he had read had mixed until they were inseparable in his head, and it was bad enough that he didn’t remember their faces, but now parts of the battle were muddled in his head. If he ever had to tell it—like in his report, he would need to tell it in his report, how the hell had he forgotten about the report?—he probably couldn’t get more than a few sentences in without breaking down or stopping because he didn’t know what came next. 

Zuko wasn’t a hero, at the very least because heroes knew what they were doing and Zuko had no fucking clue. 

He wasn’t even sure if he was even that good of a person. Spirits haunted those deserving of it, didn’t they? So Zuko had done something to deserve all the nightmares, just as he had done something to deserve being sent out to the front in the first place. 

He just didn’t know what it was, except that it deceived other people and made them think that he was good, that he was a hero, that he didn’t get haunted by ghosts of people he didn’t even now.

“You need to close your eyes to sleep,” Akio said, almost sounding amused. 

Zuko closed his eyes, but didn’t sleep. Akio wouldn’t hand him a cup of water and a fresh tunic after a nightmare, after all. 

&&&

Ikem had been spending less time around Li than he would have liked, and perhaps he was being too anxious over how the kid was doing, but that didn’t stop him from nagging Mio about him, especially since Akio wasn’t there. 

Which was a bit worrying, because Akio had been the one to watch Li for most of the day.

“Relax,” Mio said. “Akio told me what happened.” 

“And I appreciate that,” Ikem said, “but also why couldn’t he just tell me himself?”

“He has the day off tomorrow,” Mio said. “So after his shift was over, he headed out to attend to personal matters.” 

Ikem snorted. “You mean he’s—”

“Let me rephrase,” Mio said, her voice unusually hard. “He had a family emergency.” 

Oh. Now Ikem felt like an asshole. 

“Uh, did he just find out?” Ikem asked, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“No.” 

And Ikem automatically felt like even more of an asshole. He would… he would be nicer to Akio when the man came back. Yes, that was a solid plan. 

Mio was looking at him like she could read all his thoughts and then sighed. “Not much happened during his shift,” Mio said. “The bandages were changed, healing was progressing as much as it had been, you get the gist. Akio gave him a play to read, though.” 

Ikem frowned. “I didn’t think Akio liked plays.” 

“He doesn’t,” Mio said, “but the kid does. And Li _specifically_ asked for _Love Amongst the Dragons_.” 

Ikem blinked. “What.” 

Mio bit her bottom lip, like she was trying to keep from laughing. “He loves the play,” she continued. “Really likes a certain character who shares your name.”

It took a moment for Ikem to realize what Mio meant, and then Ikem’s cheeks were burning. 

“Maybe you should check up on your kid,” Mio said with a grin. “You think he can provide an accurate assessment as to whether you’re in character or not?”

Ikem couldn’t find anything to dignify that, so he just made a strategic escape to his room. Ikem opened the door slowly, frowning when he saw that Li was still awake. 

“You should be sleeping,” he said, and then his eyes locked on the scroll in Li’s hands. _Love Amongst the Dragons_. Because of course. 

Li shrugged and looked at him for a moment before turning his gaze back to scroll. 

Alright. It was going to be a quiet night, then. Ikem pulled out a new set of bandages and went around preparing materials for Li’s nightly check-up when a small voice asked, “Do you know where you got this?”

“Got what?” Ikem asked, turning from a cabinet in time to see Li gesture at the scroll. 

Ikem scratched his cheek. “Not quite sure,” he said, “but I know that we have a few other scrolls and props.”

“Really?”

Ikem nodded. He especially would know, since his first step after learning that fact had been to check out the supplies. Once an actor, always an actor, it seemed. 

“There are masks, prop swords, some costumes,” he listed. “From _Love Amongst the Dragons_ , I think we only have the Dark Water Spirit’s mask left.” 

Li was thinking something, if the way his brow furrowed was any indication, and Ikem knew him well enough that thinking led to half-plots, which always led to action. 

So he took the scroll and set it aside. 

“You should be sleeping, though,” he said and Li scowled. The kid was too good at that. “So good _night_.” 

Li wanted to complain, Ikem was sure, but Ikem put out the fire in the room before he could say a word, and lights out meant lights out. 

Ikem woke with a start, not because of a nightmare, but to the realization that lights out as a rule didn’t really matter to Li, because he could relight the fire, or put it out whenever he wanted. 

Because Li was a firebender, which Ikem _knew_ , and that hadn’t been in any of his files. It was only there now because Ikem had added it in. 

At first, he had thought it had been a mistake, some error in filing since there were plenty of Li’s around. Looking back now, Ikem wondered how that could be. Any courier who entered the system had their information meticulously noted. Even those from the backwaters of backwaters had their name, hometown, and bending status marked down, and if there was the chance for confusion, it was clarified before it became an issue.

If Li had been hiding his bending, then that would have been an explanation, but if that was the case, Li wouldn't have mentioned it so casually to Ikem. Another explanation was that Li was a later bloomer and had only started firebending after he entered service. Ikem doubted that, though. 

And perhaps Li’s bending by itself could be explained away, but Li didn’t even have a hometown marked on his files. If his bending status had been wrong and his hometown nonexistent, what did that mean for the rest of the information in his files? Would Ikem need to recheck all the facts about his medical history? 

Was Li even his name? 

Ikem snorted softly. He had to admit that that was probably an overreaction. Li was most likely his name, especially since Ikem couldn’t think of a single situation that would actually warrant a name change beyond Li choosing to do so. 

But the rest of the information? Ikem would definitely have to review that, as well as why and how the hell there was this big of an oversight. 

Ikem threw a glance at where Li was curled up, asleep. Part of groaned at all the work he would need to do now, at all the work he had already done to take care of Li, even when the system wanted to kick him out. The other part of him just felt… well, Ikem wasn’t quite sure what the feeling was, but he knew with a startingly clarity that if he would do anything for this kid.

Ikem watched Li for a moment longer, making sure that he was actually resting and not just having a quiet nightmare, and then closed his own eyes. 

Something was wrong here, but eventually, it would be alright. Li would get to have a happy ending, and a long one, at that. 

Ikem would make sure of it. 

&&&

Chiyo didn’t often visit Li. She had been here since before Li had been transferred, and while she wasn’t close to him in any capacity, she had met Li before. And considering the fact that she didn’t want Li to get overwhelmed, she figured that the best way she could contribute to helping Li was to not crowd him. 

Still, she went sometimes, if only to make sure that the other couriers didn’t overstep his boundaries. That was what she had been doing, steering the conversation away from some topics if Li looked uncomfortable, and, when he finally seemed tired, herding the other couriers out of the room. 

Just as she was leaving, though, a voice called after her, asking, “There are play props here, right?” 

Chiyo stopped and looked back at Li. “Yeah. Why?”

“Can you bring some to me?” 

That… was not what she had expected, but then again, Li was good at being unexpected. “Anything you want in particular?”

“If, uh, it relates to _Love Amongst the Dragons_ ,” Li said, almost sheepishly, “that’d be nice.” 

Chiyo did not know what _Love Amongst the Dragons_ was, but Kukrit was a huge theatre nerd, and there was still a bit of time until he had to head out on his next errand. 

“Sure thing,” she said, and resolved to track Kukrit down as soon as possible. 

“You know,” Kukrit said as they moved boxes around, “I would have congratulated Li for being a man of taste and liking theatre.”

“And you’re not doing that because… ?” 

Kukrit scowled at the ground. “Because _Love Amongst the Dragons_ is one of the worst plays to ever enter the public sphere.” 

Chiyo let out a low whistle. “That is a very strong opinion.” 

“It’s not opinion, it’s fact,” Kukrit sniffed. 

“Yeah, well, I think that Li would disagree,” Chiyo said. Her fingers brushed against something smooth. Chiyo peered into the box and then pulled the object free. 

It was a mask. A mostly blue mask with some white parts, though it had also obviously seen better days. 

Chiyo threw a glance at Kukrik. He had his back turned to her. 

Smiling, she held the mask up to her face and crept up to Kukrik. She stood still for several moments as he continued to work and then tapped his shoulder. 

Kukrik turned to look at her and the way his expression shifted from casual to terrified was something that she would forever treasure. As it was now, she was laughing almost maniacally as Kukrik glared at her. 

“What,” he said, “was _that_ for?”

Chiyo just half grinned, half bared her teeth at him. 

“I hate you,” he muttered. “I hate you so fucking much.” 

“Of course you do,” Chiyo drawled. “Anyways, the mask: keeper, or no?”

“It’s a keeper,” Kukrik said, reluctance hanging onto every word. “It’s from _Love Amongst the Dragons,_ after all.” 

Li was overjoyed when they brought a basket of props.

“We can bring it back whenever you’re done with it,” Kukrit said, and despite the fact that he hated the play, there was a small smile on his face as he watched Li finger the blue and white mask. 

“Thank you,” Li said, and there was a depth to it that Chiyo didn’t quite understand. “Thank you, Courier Kukrik and Courier Chiyo.” 

Chiyo’s eyes widened, but she nodded and made her escape with Kukrik after he, never one to get startled for long, did the standard farewell. 

“I did not know he knew our names,” Chiyo said in a low voice as they left. 

“I mean,” Kukrik said, “we’ve been here either as long or longer than he has. He’s probably heard of us.” 

Chiyo shot Kukrik a look. “Courier Li, a legend, hearing about _us_?”

“Hey, it’s possible,” Kukrik said. “He did entrust _you_ to get him what he wanted.” 

That… was also true. 

“He’s a good kid,” Kukrik said after a moment. “Doesn’t let the fame go to his head.” 

Chiyo recalled the first day they had gone to him, and the surprise on his face. “Bold of you to assume he even knows of his fame.” 

“Of course he—” Kukrik paused and then evidently recalled the same memory that Chiyo had. “Of course he probably doesn’t know. Just typical.”

“Don’t you mean atypical?” It wasn’t like the Courier Li Club was all that secretive, and there were plenty of people spreading his tales outside of the club. 

“Atypicality is typical for him,” Kukrik retorted back.

Chiyo snorted and Kukrik joined in with his strange huff of a laugh, and for a moment, she could pretend that everything was alright. 

Li was finished with the props only a few days later. Chiyo thought, as she moved objects back to where they had been before, that there might have been a thing or two missing. She was pretty sure there had been more objects, at least. 

But then again, she had seen Li’s room, and there wasn’t much room to hide stuff. And then again, why would it matter if Li had kept something? It wasn’t as if anyone else was using it. 

Shrugging to herself, she put the last of the props away and then hurried outside. Kukrik was due to leave on an errand soon enough, and she wanted to have the chance to say goodbye. 

&&&

Akio decided to take Mio’s errand. A large part of him didn’t want to, because it not only felt like he was abandoning Li and his job, but it felt like running away from his responsibilities and family. It felt shameful, it felt cowardly, and it felt wrong, but Akio could only bury himself under so much work and deal with a grief-stricken family so much before he started to crack. 

It was just Mio and Noren who saw him off. Honestly, Akio had only expected Mio. Which was a little unfair to Noren, he supposed, because once he was out of whatever funk he had been in, he was pretty good about paying attention to other people. 

“It’s just a supply trip,” Akio told them as Mio hugged him and Noren awkwardly patted him on the back. Considering how awkward Li was with affection as well, it was no wonder the two clicked. 

“Knowing you, you’ll get into trouble anyways,” Mio huffed. “Take care of yourself.” 

“Come back in one piece with nothing broken,” Noren added. “We have enough to take care of in the infirmary as it is.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Akio said, shooting the man a mock salute. “Though you’re seriously overreacting.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Mio said. “Now go or else you’ll be late!”

Akio made his way out and just as he was about to leave the premises, he turned back to wave. As he did so, he spotted a small movement in the infirmary windows. 

It was Li. He was waving back. 

Akio smiled the tiniest bit and then headed out on his way. 

&&&

The day that Li was allowed off crutches was a day for celebration, though that was nothing compared to the day that Li was allowed to move without crutches without having one of the medics hovering nearby. The fact that the two parties happened within several days of each other was strange, but then again, it was Li. 

Besides, most of the couriers, including Kuzon, brushed aside the fast healing in the face of all the tests Li made them do. Since apparently, Li had taken their immense interest in his stories as interest in being trained. And apparently, Li hadn’t forgotten that Kuzon was due to leave soon, so he planned to give Kuzon _one-on-one instruction_. 

Kuzon normally would have been delighted, but he didn’t want to wake up at sunrise or repeat a similar iteration of the training he had gone through to first become a courier. As it was, Kuzon thought that time would be better spent elsewhere. 

Li disagreed. 

“You’re less likely to encounter trouble in the colonies than on the front,” he said, leaning on a crutch. Even though he didn’t need it to move, Li tended to keep one around, either to smack people with or just to lean on, when he got tired. “You’ll still encounter trouble, though.” 

“And what danger will I meet?” Kuzon asked. 

“Thieves, muggers, people who don’t like the Fire Nation,” Li listed. “Sometimes soldiers and officers, definitely store managers.” 

Kuzon spluttered. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well, thieves are an issue because—”

“Not thieves,” Kuzon said. “The third and fourth groups. People who don’t like the Fire Nation and soldiers.”

Li stared at Kuzon. “Yeah. What about them?”

“One group is our military,” Kuzon said, “and I’m staying near the ports. Not going into Earth Kingdom territory. So who is not going to like the Fire Nation?”

Li looked at Kuzon like he was stupid. “You know that soldiers and officers can abuse their power, right? Like, quite a lot think they’re better than others and it leads them to treat people like shit, including couriers. I knew a courier who was strangled because some thought he was a privileged prick. And other people won’t like you for taking their letters so you have to be careful of that.”

“Those are—those are our troops!” was all Kuzon could manage to say. 

“Yeah,” Li said. “That doesn’t change what some of them do.”

Some silence stretched after Li’s statement. Kuzon couldn’t find anything to say to that, so he just followed dumbly as they reached the rest of the kids. Li sat down in a chair that had been pulled out for him, and the small talk ceased when Li looked around. 

“First up,” Li rasped, “who knows how to actually use a knife?”

There was training that a courier had to go through to become a courier in the first place. It wasn’t too hard to pass, and Kuzon had figured that Li’s training would just like that training, but a bit harder. 

He was wrong, and he realized that when Li moved from how to use a knife to avoiding them. Kuzon realized he was _very_ wrong when the instruction started to include things like avoiding projectiles that were aimed for his head and chest and dealing with getting pushed off structures. 

“When will I need to use _that_?” Kuzon exclaimed after he caught himself in a roll and came to a stop. 

Li shrugged. “If you ever fall off a roof.”

“Why would I be on a roof?”

“It’s a form of transportation,” Li said, as if it were obvious and Kuzon was an idiot for not considering it. “It’s also good if you ever go to the front. Then you can travel the trees much easier than if you didn’t know how to climb.” 

Kuzon was about to retort that he planned to never go to the front when Li pulled out a knife. Kuzon jumped back and was about to book it when he heard a huffing sound. 

Li was _laughing_. 

“You’ve been throwing a bunch of stuff at me, okay?” he said, cheeks burning and voice rising in a way he would have preferred that it didn’t. “And we have been avoiding knives.” 

“That’s fair,” Li snorted, “but I wasn’t going to stab you. You just need more work on how to use a knife against someone.” 

“Why? Isn’t getting away from the fight good enough?”

“What if you’re against a wall?” Li asked. “What if you’re hurt? What if there are multiple attackers?”

“Then I’m dead,” Kuzon said, deadpan.

Li glared at him and Kuzon realized that maybe that wasn't the best joke to make. 

“No,” Li said, “you’ll be prepared. You’re going to fight me.”

Kuzon tried to avoid looking at the bandages and the stiff way Li walked. “Are you sure—”

“If you’re so hesitant because you think you’ll hurt me, this’ll be an easy win, won’t it?” Li shot a measured look at Kuzon. “So hurry up.”

Kuzon had immense reservations about going at a patient with a _knife_ but he readied himself. He just needed to the flicking the wrist thing Li had shown them and then it’d be over. 

It was going to be, like Li had suggested, an easy win. 

It was not an easy win. In fact, it was not a win at all. 

Li didn’t win as easily as he might have was he not injured, but the fact that he managed to win at all was a bit humiliating. Kuzon was bigger, in better health, and he only went against the knife; Li didn’t use his crutch to destabilize or otherwise hit him. 

Not that Kuzon knew that was something Li could have done until the boy pointed it out afterwards. 

“One thing at a time, though,” Li said and then, more hesitantly, “you’re not doing too bad.”

Kuzon would say that praise didn’t affect him, that as long as he did his work to the best of his ability, he was fine with what he did, no matter what other people said about it. 

Kuzon grinned at Li’s words anyways. 

“It feels like we’re more like spies,” Chiyo groaned after one of Li’s “training sessions.” Kukrit would have agreed with her, if he hadn’t been out on an errand, so Kuzon did it in his place. 

“Guess that’s what makes us cool, though,” he joked. 

Chiyo shot him a flat look. “We’re couriers. We’re anything _but_ cool.” 

“We have Li,” Kuzon shot back, and Chiyo didn’t even need to respond. 

Yeah, they might have had Li, but that didn’t erase the fact that being a courier was not anyone’s first pick for a job. Sure, the wages were better than a common soldier’s, but there was no way to really advance. A soldier could move up the ranks of the army and then get paid more. A courier could just run more messages. 

If that wasn’t enough, there wasn’t much honor associated with the role. Yes, common people loved the couriers for delivering messages, but couriers didn’t fight for the Fire Nation. And while Kuzon didn’t quite agree with what Li said about soldiers, it was true that not all of them thought very highly of the position.

Li had changed that slightly. He was remarkable in a way not many people thought of when thinking of couriers, so a sense of pride had started to form, because sure, the military had all these geniuses, but they had _Li_. And now, that image could only be spreading. It wouldn’t be enough to completely change how couriers were viewed, but it was a start. 

A start that may very well be the end, because despite how well and quickly Li was healing, Li would not be couriering like he used to. 

“He doesn’t have to be the exception,” Kuzon said. 

“He will be,” Chiyo said. “You think any of us can reach the level he was at?”

“I mean, no,” Kuzon said sheepishly, “but we can try. We can be _more_.”

Chiyo didn’t respond to that for a while, studying the sky instead.

“Well, don’t tell that to the kids,” Chiyo finally said. “Li at least puts warnings in his stories. Everyone who listens knows it’s not something that they could do. Don’t persuade anyone to do something that would get them killed.” 

Kuzon opened his mouth to protest, but Chiyo pushed herself up and left Kuzon to ruminate alone. 

&&&

Zuko was finally getting the bandages on his burns off and he knew that he should be ecstatic, but he could only feel sick as he sat, ramrod straight, as Noren started to unwrap the bandages. 

First, it was the ones on his arm and Zuko chanced a look down at it. It… it wasn’t _great_ and it certainly looked awful, but there was only a bit of tightness and discomfort when he flexed his fingers. His shoulder still hurt a great deal, and his chest felt tight, but it wasn’t as terrible as he thought it would be. 

“I’m just going to put some salve on,” Noren said, rubbing the salve up his arm. This, at least, was familiar and Zuko was able to relax minutely. 

“Ready to take the rest off?” Noren asked. 

“It’s got to happen sometime,” Zuko whispered, and Noren started to unwrap the bandages around his face. 

Zuko knew that his sight was near gone in his injured eye. And yet, it was still somehow a surprise that when his face was bare, all he got was an eye tearing up because of the discrepancy in eyesight. 

Zuko tried to close his left eye, but it pulled at his skin. He placed his hand over it instead. 

“How is it bothering you?” Noren asked. 

“Hurts,” Zuko said, which wasn’t very helpful and didn't answer the question, he knew, but he was also trying not to break down. He’d gotten so used to the bandages that he had almost forgotten how bad his injuries were. 

“Can you see out of it at all?”

“Very, very little,” Zuko said after taking a deep breath. “And it’s all blurry.” 

Noren nodded. “Alright. We can start to work to adjust your eye to being used again, and probably get you some glasses.”

Zuko started. “What?”

“Glasses,” Noren repeated. “It won’t restore your sight or anything, but it should make your left eye a bit more usable, and help with any problems that your right has.”

“But they’ll get in the way,” Zuko found himself saying. 

“They’ll be better than nothing,” Noren said. “I’m going to put salve on your face now, but it might sting. Ready?”

It wasn’t really a question. The salve needed to be put on regardless if Zuko was ready or not. 

He nodded.

&&&

Akio never really understood how famous Li was until he went out on the supply errand. Sure, he knew about the local fanclub, but that’s all Akio thought it was. Local. 

Staring at the art that flooded the streets, art that was not only of the 41st but of other scenes that Li had to have gone through, Akio quietly admitted to himself that this was definitely more than a local thing. 

Akio shifted and ducked into a bar. He wasn’t usually one to drink, but seeing the murals, seeing the drawings of ghosts of the 41st did something to his chest that he just wanted to escape from. 

So, while Akio technically wasn’t supposed to take any stops that hadn’t already been planned and while he technically wasn’t supposed to drink on the job, he stopped in a bar and ordered some sake anyways. 

Because technically didn’t mean shit when a kid was traumatized beyond belief, mostly because of the state of the Agni-damned nation, partially because the kid only wanted to _help_ , and all Akio saw of it was art that didn’t even see the kid as human. 

Technically didn’t mean shit when all the soldiers in the 41st, an entire division made up of eleven thousand something people, were all dead save for _ten_ and now they were just some strange mix between a horror story and a political statement, faceless to everyone who didn’t lose someone. 

Technically didn’t mean shit when Akio was thinking of his kid cousins, who had enlisted because they wanted to serve and to show their dedication, because if Cousin Akio was technically a part of the forces as a medic, then they could surely show their own patriotism. They were new recruits, they were plunged far into the front, and they were slaughtered for _nothing_. 

Technically didn’t mean shit at the moment, so Akio downed his drink and downed refills, and tried to, at least for a moment, forget everything. 

Maybe the plan would have worked better was it not for the fact that the death of the 41st was whispered everywhere, and drunk people only turned those whispers to yells. 

Akio didn’t really even know what they were saying—something about a wraith, something about all the dead, something that just made him really _fucking mad_ —but he was up and ready to throw punches. 

A man got to it before him, though, and though his ears were ringing and the words weren’t completely clear, Akio caught one phrase the man yelled as his fists flew and rage grew. 

_He has a fucking name. They_ all _do._

The people the man was fighting evidently took offence with this, if the way they shot up and tried to fight back was any indication. There were curses and glasses thrown, and Akio knew he should just leave. 

Instead, he looked at his empty cup and thought of a little girl and boy who both begged to be carried on Akio’s shoulders. A girl and boy who tried to follow in his footsteps. 

Two kids who were now gone and wouldn’t ever be back again. 

Akio’s fist broke someone’s nose. 

It felt strangely satisfying. 

Akio, along with most everyone else, was tossed out of the bar. People almost continued the fight, but the candles that were lit in memoriam flickered at the briefest of movements. Most of them were drunk, but they weren’t utterly disrespectful. 

Akio sat on the ground for a long time, just staring at the flames so intently he almost missed the man who sat next to him. 

It was the same man who started the fight. He was sporting a bruise on one side of his face and various cuts were littered across him. Akio just had a few bruises and residual tears from where he’d been punched in the gut. Nothing, Akio noted smugly, was broken. 

“You punched that motherfucker,” the man finally said. Akio thought back and figured that yeah, he did punch the man this one had taken issue with. “Not many would’ve.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Most people I’ve met just see Courier Li as the story,” the man said. 

“And how are you different?” Akio asked, massaging his forehead gingerly. 

“... I was one of the scouts that found him,” the man said after a moment. Akio looked up and the man sighed. 

“It’s not a nice story,” the man said, “and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I wasn’t about to ask,” Akio responded. 

“But you were interested.”

Akio shook his head. He knew the basics from the reports of the first medics who had treated Li. There were details missing, and Akio didn’t particularly care to know them. He had seen enough of what had happened through all the injuries on Li’s body. 

The man relaxed. “What’s your connection, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Akio did mind, but this wasn’t a matter of whether Akio would respond or not. The man had already given his side of the story, so it was only fair to reply with Akio’s. But there was also no way in the name of all the Avatars was Akio going to tell him that he knew Li. If anything was obvious from this display, it would be a lot better for Li to not encounter any of the people who were idolizing and martyring him, who even thought him a vengeful spirit. And while the man seemed safe, that was all it was: appearances. 

“My cousins,” Akio said, and then forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. He really wished he had a drink; it would go down easier that way, he thought. “Two of them were in the 41st.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the man murmured and Akio could only nod.

Akio wasn’t sure exactly how long they sat there, but the man got up at one point and, holding out his hand, said, “You should probably be getting back to where you need to be, master of punching fools like it’s nothing.”

Taking the hand, Akio pulled himself up unsteadily. 

“Thanks,” he said, “and my name’s Akio. I’m not a master. You though,” Akio quickly shot a glance at the man, who, now that he was paying attention, was _huge_ , “might deserve that title more.”

The man huffed. “That was the first time I ever started a fight, to be honest,” he said. “So I’m no master of anything, either. I’m just Chit Sang.” 

They stood awkwardly for a moment and Akio shifted on his feet before saying, “I think I need to be heading out.” 

“Same here,” Chit Sang said. “Goodbye, Akio.” 

“Same to you, Just Chit Sang,” Akio said. 

Chit Sang snorted. “You must think you’re really funny, don’t you?”

“I try,” Akio said, and then headed down the side of the road. He could hear the echoes of laughter behind him. It warmed him a bit, until he saw all the murals again. 

He looked at them for a long moment, stomach and head aching, and wanting to paint over every instance that was supposed to be Li or the 41st. 

Instead, he forced himself to keep walking. 

Something told him that this was not what Mio had intended when she had offered the errand to him. 

&&&

Zuko hurt. A lot. 

It was stupid, considering a lot of his wounds were already healed or close to being healed. He had the scars to prove it after all. It was also stupid because literally all he had done today was do the eyesight test; everything else had been done by Noren. 

And despite all that, and despite the fact that Zuko should have been used to this by now, his body still ached like the crumbling foundations of an old and ruined building. 

Zuko lowered himself onto the futon a bit less gracefully than he would have liked, but he didn’t have that much energy to care. 

“Hey,” Noren said, “try to untense, okay?”

Zuko tried. He really did try. And he still failed. 

Typical. 

He waited for Noren to get annoyed or disappointed, or even just to sigh, but the man didn’t. 

“Where does it hurt?” 

_Your job is done,_ he wanted to say. _You healed the wounds_. _You don’t have to care anymore. I don’t._

“Everywhere,” he said instead, because opening his mouth had taken energy he didn’t know he had, and he could barely say that one word, much less four sentences. 

Besides, if he had said that, Noren would just be confusing, saying things like it was because he cared, or that medics should help patients with the aftereffects of injuries, or something like that. 

Noren got up and Zuko realized with a start that he didn’t want Noren to leave. He really didn’t. 

He tried to say that, but it felt like his jaw was wired shut. So he just tried to breathe like he was meditating and not hyperventilating. 

“Li?” Noren asked, in a quiet enough voice that it didn’t hurt. Which Zuko also thought was stupid, because he _lost_ hearing. It would be more accurate for him to need louder sounds. “I know you just laid down, but I have some tea for you to drink, and I’m going to help you sit up for it.” 

Zuko shook his head the tiniest bit. “Medicine,” he rasped and Noren seemed to understand. 

“Yes, it’s medicinal,” Noren said, “but it shouldn’t taste too bad. We’ll go sip by sip, to make it manageable.” 

Zuko nodded and Noren helped him sit up. He felt useless and weak as Noren helped him drink, but when he tried to hold the cup on his own, he almost dropped it. So he let Noren help until the cup was finished and Zuko was allowed to lie down again. 

He didn’t feel completely well, but it was certainly better than it was before. 

“I was fine this morning,” he whispered. 

“That happens,” Noren said, settling down so he was sitting down next to Zuko. He wasn’t leaving, and Zuko wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. “You’ll be fine one day, and not the other. You’ll be full of energy one hour, and the next, it’ll disappear.” 

“When will it stop?” Zuko asked. 

“It might not,” Noren admitted. “You can get better, but it may never fully go away.”

Zuko chewed on his lip before stopping with a wince. The skin was tender on the left side of his face, and apparently that meant his mouth was affected as well. 

“I don’t want it,” Zuko said, in the voice that always got Mother to frown and his Father to slap him. 

“I know.” 

“I got through worse things,” Zuko said, his voice growing a bit louder, though as it did, the rasp became more prominent. That, Zuko thought with a mild degree of panic, wasn’t _his_ voice. “I got through worse things and I’ve been _fine_. I should be _fine_.”

“Li—”

Zuko kept speaking. Now that he started, he didn’t know if he could stop. “I—I don’t _want_ it. I didn’t—I didn’t _choose_ to be out there and it’s not like I _wanted_ it. I—”

A warm hand grasped his, and there was a voice telling him to breathe, just _breathe_. 

Zuko tried. It was better than nothing. 

“You with me now?” Noren asked and Zuko nodded. 

“Bad things can happen regardless of your choices or desires,” Noren said. “It’s not our fault that they happen. We can only mourn, live with it best we can, and try to stop it from happening again.”

“Has anyone, though?” Zuko asked quietly, sight becoming blurry and eyes stinging. “Has anyone even _tried_ to make it better?”

“People have tried,” Noren said. “And even if we fail, we shouldn’t stop trying.”

“If we only fail, what’s the point of trying?” 

“Hey,” Noren said, and he brushed something from Zuko’s face. It felt wet, whatever it was, and Zuko hoped it wasn’t saliva. “Just because things aren’t good now doesn’t mean that there haven’t been successes. It doesn’t mean that things can’t get better.”

“But we have to work.” 

Noren nodded slowly. 

“It’s not fair,” Zuko said. “I’m thirteen.” 

Something weird happened to Noren’s face, and the hand that held Zuko’s tightened. 

“You’ve done enough,” Noren said. “You can rest. You… _you_ don’t need to worry about working. It’s not a job that you should have to do.”

But whether something should be and whether it was were two different things. Zuko wanted to say more, but his throat was sore and it hurt to even swallow. He just closed his eyes and tried to rest. 

Noren did not stay the entire night, but he stayed long enough. 

Zuko still felt like shit in the morning, but he at least had a clearer mind. And that mind was focused on one thing: the pain was going to be a severe hindrance in his plan for treason. He doubted that he could do half the things he could before, and that, combined with the lack of a seeing eye and about half his hearing in one ear, would not be good. 

Which definitely sucked, because Zuko’s method of dealing with obstacles involved improvising ways around it, ones that usually required his full strength. 

_No matter,_ Zuko thought and then, after a wave of pain that seized his breath for a moment, amended, _some matter. Ok, matters quite a bit._

The point was that it wouldn’t matter enough to stop him, because Zuko was filled with spite more than he was with pain, and besides, if he could do half of what he did before, it would probably still be enough. After all, it wasn’t as if Zuko was aiming to topple the entire Fire Nation.

He just needed to figure out his new limits and adjust to them. If he couldn’t sneak around well enough, then he would just have to adjust to being a spy in plain sight. If he couldn’t courier at all, he could at least try to help others. A lot of the other couriers seemed to listen to him to some degree, so he could even persuade them to help, as a last resort. 

But that all hinged on how well he could move now. Which Zuko was going to find out, if it was not for Noren getting in the way every time he did something more complex than walking. 

Of course, Noren kept _saying_ that it was so Zuko would heal a lot better, but he said that about _everything_ and yeah, Zuko hurt a lot, but his injuries couldn’t still be that bad. 

Unfortunately, the other couriers had started to believe Noren on that, which meant that sometimes, they would just inform him that it was time for him to rest and gently escort him back to his shared room or to the infirmary. 

“You know, one time I—” 

“Did something completely insane,” usually Chiyo would say, though the other couriers would also parrot it back at him. He supposed he was lucky that Kuzon of Kaijin and Kukrit weren’t around to annoy him further. “You can tell us about it inside.”

Zuko felt a lot like an old man who was being indulged in his stories, and he didn’t like it one bit. 

“I’m just saying that I can—”

“Rest,” he would be told, and contrary to what people thought, he was able to pick his battles. 

So he would rest, but it usually meant he thought about treason and how to commit it. Usually he could get away with it if he stayed under the covers, but sometimes, someone would lift the blanket up and take away whatever he was reading or sternly tell him to “Rest with his eyes closed.”

It was stupid and it was preposterous and the _worst_. It was bad enough that he would apparently have some form of pain for the rest of his life and nightmares, but now he had a lot more nagging to go along with it as well. 

It didn’t help that Zuko wasn’t that great at being subtle.

“You can rest your mind too,” Noren told him at one point, poking his forehead and startling his eyes open.

“Why?” Zuko asked, because he knew better than to pretend he had been asleep. 

“Sometimes, thinking about things makes stuff worse,” Noren said, in a voice not dissimilar to his uncle’s when he was giving proverbs. 

This sort of ache was old at this point, so Zuko was able to work past it and say, “That’s what I told my uncle, but he always told me that I should think things through.”

“You should,” Noren said and Zuko blinked in confusion. “I said _sometimes_ thinking about stuff is worse. Most of the time it’s not.” 

“How do you know when it is or isn’t, then?”

“Experience,” Noren said and Zuko scowled. “Get some actual sleep and try to stop thinking.” 

“Alright,” Zuko said and pointedly closed his eyes. He didn’t hear Noren so after a while, he opened them again to see Noren still there, looking bemused. 

“You know you actually need to try, right?” Noren said with a grin. “Come on, it’s close to sunset. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Zuko grumbled, hiding the shaking of his hands in clenched fists, but tried anyway. 

It wasn’t that difficult. Didn’t stop the nightmares from coming, of course, but they weren’t as bad and this time, Zuko actually had the time to go back to sleep after he awoke. 

&&&

“They’re all talking about him,” was the first thing Akio said when he came back from his trip. “And apparently, a play’s already being made after him. _The Last Courier_ , I think it’s going to be called.”

“Not funny,” Ikem said. 

“I’m not joking,” Akio said. “And I’m not even exaggerating. They have _murals_ of him, for Agni’s sake. Of course, it didn’t look like him. It painted him as more of a wraith, but it was still meant to represent him, and that’s what matters.”

“A wraith,” Ikem repeated dumbly. 

“Apparently he’s made up of bandages, and behind the bandages are the souls of dead soldiers,” Akio said. “He is the physical manifestation of all our soldiers lost in battle.” 

Ikem groaned and Akio patted him on the back briefly. 

“Make sure word of this doesn’t get out,” Ikem said and Akio stared at him. “What?”

“You’re telling me to make sure that word does not get out to a bunch of couriers,” Akio said. “You know couriers travel, right? They’re going to or already have seen this for themselves.”

Ikem scowled. “Forgot about that.”

“You forgot about the couriers?” Akio mock-gasped. “Where are you from, the army?”

“Used to be, actually,” Ikem said. “Though I was just a medic there.”

Akio clearly did not expect that. “Woah. A field medic?”

Ikem shook his head. “No, I was one of the ones who remained back at the camps. Took care of the soldiers who were dragged back.”

“What brought you to our humble station, then?”

“Got tired,” Ikem settled for after a moment.

“Isn’t your memo saving people, though?” Akio asked, no rebuke in his voice, just gentle curiosity. 

“It’s uh… It’s hard to want to continue to save people when nothing changes,” Ikem said and held up a hand when Akio opened his mouth. “I know it means a lot to the people I help, but I never see those people again unless they get hurt or killed. They’re not a good measure of saving. I… I personally couldn’t. So I decided it’d be better to move to somewhere where I could help without running myself down.”

“You got a sorry shock here, then,” Akio said, and Ikem could only nod. It had been surprising just how many couriers came back with injuries of some sort and how many couriers had to be ushered to city hospitals. Ikem used to think that the worst shock were the reports of the couriers who had died in their dorms after the result of an injury. 

Then Li had happened, and even thinking about the fact that the kid wasn’t into the safe zone yet made Ikem’s hands almost tremble. 

“Yeah,” Ikem said. “Yeah I did.”

Akio offered Ikem an awkward but sympathizing smile and Ikem did his best to give one back. It wasn’t really an apology for being a jerk while Akio had been going through whatever it was he’d been going through, but it was a start. 

“Mio?” 

“Yeah?”

“Did you know that Li’s a firebender?”

Mio looked up at Ikem and frowned. “He… is?”

“He hinted at it one time,” Ikem said. “I told him to get some sleep in the morning, and he said he couldn’t because ‘Firebenders rise with the sun.’”

“I don’t remember seeing that in his file,” Mio said. “That’s a major oversight.”

“I ended up adding it,” Ikem said. “But when I looked more into it, some things just… didn’t add up.” 

“What things?”

“No hometown or list of contacts,” Ikem said. “He also appears out of nowhere when he’s ten, but his reports were only filed in a few months after he reportedly joined. So presumably his file started after his first errands, not before.” 

“That’s suspicious as fuck,” Mio said, and then rubbed her face. “We have to start verifying if his medical information is correct.” 

Ikem blinked. “Well, yes, but what about figuring out why it’s like this?”

Mio shot Ikem a long look. “Noren, we’re two medics, three if we get Akio involved, trying to figure out why one courier doesn’t have the proper documentation. A courier we’re already working a lot for since the system isn’t directly supporting him. Even verifying his information will take a lot of time that we barely have.” 

Ikem clenched his jaw and Mio continued, “Besides, there are a number of reasons why it could be like this, and in some, we wouldn’t really want to meddle.”

“Like?”

“For one, someone was trying to get rid of him, and they bullshitted the paperwork enough for it to work,” Mio said. “Who that someone was could literally be anyone. His family could’ve abandoned him in the recruitment area, or if they had money, snuck him inside. He could've been doing this since he was a lot younger, and that first recorded instance was either the time where someone felt comfortable writing it down, or when he was spotted. There are… _programs_ out there that use kids.” 

Mio let out a long sigh. “If it’s one of those things, then we literally have no power over it. If it was his family who dropped him off, or someone else who knew him… what could we do?”

“That has to be illegal,” Ikem said. 

“And the courier system would do… what? Li’s one courier and was a helpful one. They’d probably thank whoever it was for the contribution.” 

Ikem scowled. The point of having this job was to make a _difference_ and here was Mio, telling him there was no difference to be made? 

Then again, his job was as a medic, not as a… as a whatever the job would be for people who did this sort of thing. He didn’t have the resources, or the knowledge of the circumstances. 

But, Ikem realized, he knew someone who might. 

Ikem got up with such a start that Mio threw him a look. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Mio said warningly and Ikem waved her off. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he said over his shoulder as he rushed out of the room. 

Asa looked like they were really getting sick of Ikem coming over, and the fact that they weren’t hiding that fact meant that perhaps Ikem was pushing his boundaries a bit. 

“What is it this time?” they asked. 

“Li,” Ikem said and he could hear their suppressed groan. “In his files, there is no hometown and there is inaccurate information.” 

“And what am _I_ supposed to do about it?” 

“Well, why are there so many discrepancies?” Ikem asked. “You’re in charge of the couriers here, right? So shouldn’t you have some idea of where he came from or how he came to be in the system in the first place?”

“He was transferred here only a year ago,” Asa said in a cold voice. “I don’t know anything about him outside of his file.”

“Bu—”

“Sometimes, Noren,” Asa interrupted, their voice sounding harsher with every word, “there are things you’re not meant to dig into because the only thing you can do with what you find is despair. And sometimes, there isn’t anything to find at all.”

“And you’re sure about that?” Ikem asked. 

“Yes.”

“Why?” Ikem asked. “Is it certain in a general case, or do you actually know what I’m asking?”

Asa glared at them for a long moment, but Ikem had been an actor, and he knew how to hide the uneasiness he felt. 

“There are patterns you notice when you’re in a system for long,” Asa said. “If you care to throw any more accusations, feel free to stay and feel the consequences. Otherwise, you may leave.” 

Ikem really wanted to demand what sort of patterns Asa was talking about, but Asa was already tipping over the edge, and Ikem knew he didn’t want to be the one who gave that final push. 

Ikem left the office. 

Thirteen years ago, Ozai had taken Ursa and Ikem had rushed after them with prop swords of all things. And while he held his own against the guards, he wasn’t able to help Ursa. 

Perhaps, Ikem thought, staring into an empty fireplace, rushing in head first wasn’t a good strategy. And maybe, he should acknowledge that in a way, Asa and Mio were right.

Ikem couldn’t fight the Fire Lord or the royal family. He couldn’t fight the system. He couldn’t end the programs that Mio had mentioned, and his strong headed investigation would only get him kicked out, or it would serve to get Li taken away. 

And Ikem really couldn’t help if that happened. If Ikem did want to dig deeper or help beyond basic healing, if he wanted to actually make sure that Li got his happy ending, then he would have to be subtle. 

Which, well, _fuck_. 

&&&

Kuzon did not, in fact, need to use his knife skills. He did not need to use his knowledge on how to deal with falling off roofs or avoiding projectiles. Kuzon did not need to use any of the actual defense skills that had been in Li’s training. 

Not to say that Li’s training was useless. He avoided skirmishes because he saw the signs of trouble that Li had warned them about. One day, he knew, he wouldn’t be so lucky and would have to fight, and the defense aspect of training would be useful. 

This time, avoidance was enough. Except for the group of people he was required to meet. 

Here was the thing: Kuzon was proud of the Fire Nation. He was proud of their troops. He knew there were bad people there, but Kuzon knew his sister and his sister’s friends. 

Here was the thing: Kuzon had been so fucking isolated. 

He didn’t even remember the specific words that the soldiers had been saying, didn’t even remember how many were said to him and how many were said in general, but the memory of them crawled under his skin anyways. 

Which led to him now, his half-filled bag discarded in the corner of his rented room and him in the corner, hugging his knees and taking deep breaths. 

Akari was a good person. And Akari’s friends were good people. This one group of soldiers—who eyed civilians with an uncomfortable glint in their eyes, who boasted about kills and easily hated upon anyone who looked remotely non Fire Nation, who didn’t give a fuck about couriering and didn’t mind telling Kuzon that it was honorless and that he better enlist _properly_ once he was old enough—did not represent all soldiers. 

_Of course not_ , a voice that sounded like Li’s said. _Some are so much worse_. 

Which Kuzon knew, and made his little freakout really stupid, because it could have been worse. Li had said that he knew someone who had been _strangled_ by soldiers, for fuck’s sake. 

Kuzon had thought that just an extreme case at the time, but he also thought that a bunch of soldiers wouldn’t make him feel like a piece of shit, so he thought he might re-evaluate what he thought of them. 

Kuzon let out a long breath. Maybe he was overreacting a bit. After all, it wasn’t like what those soldiers said about couriering was true. Kuzon had Li to look to to disprove what they said. And he could look forward to the next squad of soldiers to be better. 

Kuzon would also rather forget about that next squad of soldiers. 

Kuzon had missed Li getting his bandages off, but he had returned just in time for the arrival of Li’s glasses. Kuzon almost laughed at the idea of Li having glasses before remembering why Li probably needed them. 

“We should throw another party,” Kuzon said instead. 

“Another?” Kukrik asked. He had returned from his errand a while ago. “When was the last time you threw a party?”

“When he got off his crutches,” Chiyo said, having recently returned from a run herself. “Though that was more training than it was a party.”

“There was food, wasn’t there?” Kuzon asked, wracking his brain for exactly what had happened. 

“There’s always food here,” Kukrik said. 

“Well, we also got to practice knives,” Kuzon said. 

Kukrik furrowed his brows. “You got… _knives_?”

“Practiced with them,” Kuzon corrected, “though I did get one for myself later.” 

“Li was training us,” Chiyo explained. “It was actually rather fun, though I think that this time, we might want to keep it a party.” 

“Ok, I’m not disagreeing,” Kukrik said, “but you really have got to fill me in on what I missed.” 

Chiyo laughed and complied, while Kuzon took the moment to find Li. 

Li was resting in his room, the one he shared with Noren, and he was reading a play that Kuzon didn’t recognize. He wasn’t squinting anymore or holding the play close to his face, and his glasses were resting securely on his face. 

“You’re back,” Li said, with something that sounded like pleasant surprise. 

“Yeah,” Kuzon said. “And uh, if it’s fine, I had a sort of question.” 

Li nodded, putting down the scroll. Kuzon took a deep breath and asked, “What did you mean exactly, by what you said about our troops?”

“Didn’t I already explain it?” Li asked, sounding slightly confused. 

“I mean, yeah, kind of,” Kuzon said. “It’s just, I met some soldiers. Like, obviously because I had to collect their letters, but they… well, my sister’s a soldier, and they weren’t like her at all.” 

Kuzon glanced at Li for a moment, dreading to find something like pity, but it was kind of hard to read Li considering half his face was a burn scar. 

“People are different,” Li said after a long moment. “There are bad couriers too.” 

“No but,” Kuzon struggled a bit for the words, “you knew. You marked them as a group to be wary of. You didn’t do that with other couriers.” 

“Oh. So how did I know?”

Kuzon nodded. 

Li looked slightly uncomfortable, but then he said, “My uncle and cousin were in the army. They didn’t talk much about it because I was really little then, but I remember them complaining about the conduct of soldiers. One time, my uncle said something along the lines of soldiers thinking that they were so invincible that they thought they were above reproach.” 

Li shrugged and Kuzon was trying so hard to wrap his mind around Li actually having a family that he almost missed what Li said next. “When I saw the soldiers as couriers, some were good, some were neutral, but some were like what my uncle said. And then I saw them more, and honestly, a lot have the idea that they’re a bit better because they’re serving. Some just don’t often act on it and some do. So that’s why I know to be wary of them.” 

“I… guess that makes sense,” Kuzon said, even though it didn’t, not really, because Akari was only proud to serve the nation. She didn’t think she was better than people, and she certainly didn’t belittle Kuzon for being a courier. 

“And I included officers because a lot are dicks,” Li continued and Kuzon froze because right, Li had a thing against officers as well. “Besides, if soldiers can do bad things because of their power, what does that say about their leaders?”

Kuzon was trying to see if Li had _actually_ said that. Li seemed to take his look as a request for explanation.

“Lots of them just care about image,” Li said, as if this was the most natural thing in the world, “and they’d probably shove disgrace under the rug. Like things their soldiers do.” 

Kuzon could understand the issues individual soldiers might have, but officers _earned_ their rank. 

“‘Earned,’” Li just said when Kuzon brought that point up. “Some are alright, yeah, and some will even be polite. Some will just tell you what to do, and the rest usually don’t like or care about couriers.” 

“They’re supposed to be good,” was the only thing that Kuzon managed to say. 

Li nodded. “Supposed to be.” 

Kuzon pursed his lips and Li shot him a sympathetic look. 

“Took me a while to figure it out,” Li admitted. 

“If you don’t like soldiers, then why’d you save them at the massacre of the 41st?” Kuzon asked and Li stilled. Kuzon immediately regretted asking. 

“They’re not… they’re not _evil_ ,” Li said, fingers picking at the hem of his tunic. “And it’s not like I know them. I—I wouldn’t trust them much, but it’s not like I can say that they’re so bad they deserve to _die_ when I don’t even know them.” 

Kuzon wanted to ask more, because Li had or once had family in the military, because despite the waver in his voice, he sounded so certain, and how could he _be_ certain? But Li’s hands were starting to shake and Kuzon’s own memories were coming up. 

“Thank you,” Kuzon said, and bowed, because even though he didn’t like what he heard, even though some of him doubted it while the other part said Courier Li was not a liar, Li had taken the time to answer his questions. 

Li just nodded absently and Kuzon left before Noren could come back and murder him for upsetting Li. 

Kuzon wanted to reflect on what Li had said, to dissect it for himself, but then Kukrik had grabbed his arm, asking where the hell he had been without expecting an answer, because apparently, not that Kuzon had been told this before this very moment, but he was supposed to organize the party. 

Kuzon knew shit about organizing a party, but at the very least, he made absolute certain there would be no training. 

&&&

Zuko was getting an assignment again. He, after _months_ , was finally getting an assignment again. It was only around the islands, which was a beginner’s task. 

Zuko tried not to take it to heart. It was only fair, considering everything that had happened to him and the fact that Zuko doubted he had been listed as an active courier for the last month or so. Zuko hadn’t even been moved back to the courier dorms yet, and a part of him doubted that he ever would. 

Still, impatience threatened to spill over into anger. Zuko knew he was above this. In fact, Zuko had never been required to do this part of couriering. He had gone straight into delivering messages along the front and back. 

He tried to look on the bright side. Mother would want that and at any rate, it was what Noren would tell him soon enough if Zuko didn’t fix this on his own. He’d say something like, _there are good things in every bad situation; they’re almost never good enough to make the bad situation worth it, but they can be enough to make it through it_ , and he’d repeat it so many times until Zuko was forced to understand it. 

It had the same feel of one of Uncle’s proverbs, though it was infinitely more understandable. Zuko wondered briefly if this sort of advice was what Uncle had been trying to pass on, and whether Zuko had just been too stupid to understand or if Uncle just wanted him to work to understand it. 

Both were probably true, though it was funny now how Zuko couldn’t remember any of Uncle’s proverbs. There were snippets, usually involving tea or animals, but there was never enough to actually glean meaning from. 

Maybe Uncle would have a proverb for this situation, telling him that the flower of ambition only lasted so long as it was watered or something else as incomprehensible. Or maybe Uncle would be so disappointed in him; he was actively planning to commit treason, after all, and was only one step closer to it. 

Perhaps the good thing in running an errand, though it was an easy one, was that it would take his mind away from family. 

“You know,” Noren said the night before Zuko was to head out, “you don’t have to go back to couriering.”

“I _can_ ,” Zuko snapped immediately, partially because he was tired of being doubted but also because he thought they were past this. 

“I know, I know, but you don’t _have_ to.” Noren shifted some supplies around. “You’re getting well, and you probably have a good sum saved up from couriering. There’s a program you can apply to, and it’ll cover most of your education.”

Noren was saying more than that, but the words were swimming in and out of Zuko’s ears. 

He supposed it was a possibility, just as it was a possibility for him to become a soldier, or fall in between the cracks, or defect. 

Zuko wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t interested. He had never been to school and hadn’t ever had the privilege of being with other kids and having the chance to make friends. From what Azula had described though, it did sound fun. 

But any school that Zuko went to now would never be near the level Azula’s school was. It was likely to be underfunded and besides, the teachers would likely just push out unwarranted and almost propaganda-like praise towards the Fire Nation. Zuko had never been to school, but his tutors pushed that mindset on him plenty, and Azula had certainly heard a lot of that from her school.

And Zuko wasn’t a good liar. He wouldn’t be able to pretend that those words didn’t sicken him, and that would be as good as handing himself over to be executed. 

So while it would be nice, it was a possibility that Zuko couldn’t afford. 

“I can read and write,” Zuko said, because he felt like he should. “I know enough math and history. I don’t need school.” 

“Alright,” Noren said in that voice that Zuko knew meant that this wasn’t really over. “Alright. Just make sure to take care of yourself.”

“Duh,” Zuko said. He would really need to, now; his remaining strength and health were the only things that would make treason possible. 

Noren woke him up three separate times that night. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Zuko snapped before the man could question his choice to go out on an assignment in a deceptively soft voice, though Zuko’s own voice got harsher and more desperate each time. 

Noren didn’t say anything, but after the third time, he drew his arm around Zuko. Zuko could have fought it, but it felt… almost reassuring. And safe, because Noren was warm—but not in a way that fire was, not in a way that could burn Zuko—and his arms were strong and secure—but they never suffocated or crushed him. 

So Zuko didn’t fight it and let Noren pull him closer until Zuko could awkwardly rest his head on Noren’s shoulder. 

Zuko knew it shouldn’t be this awkward. Mother had done similar things, had pulled him in for hugs plenty of times. He knew how hugs were supposed to work, and yeah, Noren wasn’t his mother or his father or even family, but that didn’t mean that Zuko would be so _bad_ at it. 

Had he forgotten? Had he really forgotten what hugs felt like? 

Now that he thought of it, when was the last time he had gotten a hug before Noren? He hadn’t gotten close to anyone in his time as a courier. He hadn’t known most of the couriers’ names before they approached him, and he’d been here for _three years_. 

Had it really been three years? Agni, had he really been doing this, living day to day and seeing horrors but pushing it back because he just needed to live, for _three years?_

Azula would be eleven now. That was older than he was when he le—no, he hadn’t left, he had been taken by people whose faces he couldn’t remember anymore, people he didn’t remember except one had cut his hair, one had wanted nothing to do with him, and one kept holding out his hand. 

Azula would be eleven now and wasn’t that when she was expected to have learned blue fire? Wasn’t that—

“— _Li._ ” 

Zuko looked up and saw that his face was being held by Noren. 

He blinked. His face was being held. His scarred face, the face where he couldn’t see anything on one side, could barely _hear_ —

Noren let go but held onto his shoulders lightly. 

“You need to control your breathing,” he said, and of course Zuko did, all firebenders had to have control. “Breathe with me.”

Noren breathed too loudly, and Zuko would have hated it had it not made it easier to follow along. Soon, his chest didn’t feel as tight and Zuko thought with a hint of hysteria that he _really_ needed to stop getting into these panic modes.

“Should I stop touching you?” Noren asked and Zuko was so embarrassed, but he shook his head anyway. Noren was warm and Zuko felt really cold. 

“Okay,” Noren said, “but you need to tell me if anything’s wrong.”

 _Everything is_ , Zuko almost said, but Noren wouldn’t be able to understand. He’d try to by asking, but Zuko couldn’t answer now. 

So Zuko just nodded in agreement and discreetly curled in to get closer to Noren and to warmth. Noren rocked slightly, humming something that sounded familiar, something like Mother had sung once. 

Zuko didn’t go back to sleep, but when the sun rose, he had finally relaxed and calmed down, and honestly, that was good enough. 

&&&

Li’s first assignment after healing was just delivering letters around the islands. It was the safest option, as well as the easiest and the one with the most accommodations. That was what Ikem focused on when he started to worry.

“You should just take him in, honestly,” Asa told Ikem. They still seemed kind of pissed at him, which was fine with Ikem, because he was kind of pissed at them. “He shouldn’t go back.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Ikem snapped, thinking back to the not one, not two, but _three nightmares_ and a later _panic attack_ that Li had experienced the night before he left. “He’s stubborn as fuck and the only thing I can do directly at this point is make sure his injuries don’t get worse and be there so he at least won’t hide everything that happens to him.”

 _How did it get this bad?_ Ikem wanted to yell at Asa, because they were the Head Courier, and they were supposed to take care of all the couriers here, weren’t they? 

“Couldn’t make your medic’s card last longer?” Asa asked. 

“Couldn’t send him out any later?” Ikem shot back. 

Asa glared at him. “You have patients, don’t you? Attend to them.”

Ikem snorted and suppressed a bitter grin as he left. Asa may have said the last word, but they both knew he had won that round. 

That night, in a room that was empty except for him for the first time in a long while, Ikem really thought about Li. He’d been trying to do more to take care of the kid, but there was really only so much he could do when he was also occupied with the kid’s physical wounds and trauma. 

Now Li was temporarily gone, Ikem had more time to think. 

Li clung to the role of courier with a desperation that shouldn’t be in a thirteen year old. And really, it made sense. Li didn’t seem to have a family or a place that could take him in. Couriering was the only thing he had, and it was obvious he hadn’t fully trusted Ikem’s offer to take him in. While Ikem thought that maybe, Li trusted him a bit more now, at least with being open, he knew it wasn’t enough to get Li to quit.

Not that Ikem would, if he was in Li’s position. Ikem was still a stranger to Li. A comforting stranger, sure, but a stranger all the same. Not to mention that, like Akio and Mio had said, Li had had bad experiences with field medics. 

Ikem thought it was very good then that Li didn’t know he had been an army doctor. True, he had never been out on the field, he never would have been someone Li would have encountered, but he doubted that distinction would matter to Li. 

Ikem turned Li’s situation over in his head a few more times, before scowling as his stomach sank. 

Couriering was Li’s entire life. Giving it up now, when he had nothing else and didn’t even consider trying something else, would destroy him. 

“What are you doing here again?” Asa’s voice snapped at him and Ikem put his hands up in a mock surrender.

“Relax,” he said. “I just… wanted to ask a small favor.” 

Asa raised a brow. “A favor.” 

“A small one,” Ikem said. “Just… don’t be overly harsh when judging Li’s performance.” 

Asa opened their mouth but Ikem pushed on, “I know it’s best if he doesn’t courier again, but if he’s forced to stop now, it’d… it’d honestly be worse for him.”

“Worse for him.”

“This is all he has. Do you want to take it away from him when he has nothing, or when he has something else to rely upon?”

“It won’t be any better when he’s older,” Asa snapped. “If anything, he’ll be more dependent on it.”

“No, because when he’s older, he’ll have more choice,” Ikem shot back. “He won’t have to choose between couriering or starving, and he won’t think that his worth is tied to how many messages he delivers, and how quickly.”

“Oh, and he’s just going to come to that conclusion by himself?” Asa asked. “Besides, he already has options other than starving if he leaves the system.”

“He doesn’t see them as options,” Ikem said. “Trust me on that.” 

“And you’re going to make him see that they are options?” Asa asked. “You’re just going to magically heal the situation with the power of love?”

Ikem forced himself not to get angry. “Right now,” he said slowly, “the fact that he can courier again is tied to his injuries. If we pull him off completely now, he’ll think it’s because he’s useless. It won’t be the case when he’s older, especially if he chooses to leave.”

“It won’t happen like that,” Asa said. “He’ll be looking for a reason to explain it, and he’ll eventually trace it back to his injuries.” 

“Which is why we build a support system,” Ikem said, wondering if Asa was purposely misunderstanding his intentions. Asa looked uncertain, but they weren’t refuting him, so Ikem hurried to continue. 

“Just… I’m not even asking you to keep him in the system against all odds,” Ikem said. “I’m just asking you for the small favor of not judging him too harshly because you think he’ll be better off without couriering. If he does fail, then he fails and gets pulled out. Nothing to be done. But if he’s doing alright, then just mark it as it is.”

Asa looked at him for a long moment before throwing their hands in the air. 

“You know what, fine,” Asa said. “Fine. The only reason I tangentially care about the damn kid is because you pester me so much about him. We’ll see how he does, but I’ll personally pray that he fails.”

Ikem huffed. “I’m going to, as well.” 

Asa stared at him and said, “If you’re going to pray for his failure, then why are you making allowances for him to stay in the program?”

“In case the spirits don’t answer my prayers and someone decides to use their power to pass their opinion,” Ikem said pointedly. 

Asa huffed. “Get the fuck out of my office,” they said, but there was no real venom behind it. 

“Yes, sir,” Ikem muttered, but just as he reached the door, Asa called them back. 

“I thought you told me to get the fuck out,” Ikem said. 

“I talked to the other Head Couriers who had him before,” Asa said, not quite looking at him. “They don’t know where he came from, and he has no recorded family. Which, if you’re unaware, does mean that he can be legally adopted, even if he has living family.” 

Asa studied their nails. “In fact,” they continued, “in that case, his family can’t reclaim him without Li’s consent, or the consent of whoever adopts him. Since his family, according to law, gave him up.” 

Ikem narrowed his eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

Asa shrugged. “I mentioned that it’d be better if you took him in. Just want to let you know that it’s possible.” 

Ikem stared and Asa sighed. 

“I thought I told you to get the fuck out of my office,” they said. “You should be doing that now.” 

Ikem left and laughed a bit to himself when he returned to his room.

Asa had definitely won that round. But considering what Asa had told him, Ikem wasn’t quite sure he cared. 

Praying had never held much value to him, but that night, sitting near Li’s empty futon, he prayed. He prayed for Li to fail, for him to have to get withdrawn from the program, and, if possible, for Li to realize that was the good thing in this situation. 

Ikem wasn’t rich, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he had all it took to be a guardian. But he was willing to learn and he had promised that he would make sure that the kid got a happy ending. If that meant adopting him, Ikem would do it in a heartbeat. 

Li didn’t fail. He completed the assignment just fine. Very well, in fact, compared to other couriers. To his own record, it was far from the best, but still, much better than what Ikem had expected. 

Even if Ikem hadn’t asked Asa to be unbiased, it wasn’t as if they could have found fault with the errand. So Li went on another errand. And another. And another, until Asa had Li going from the mainland to the islands. 

And until Li was back on the front again. 

That, Ikem didn’t like. 

“You know, I said that you shouldn’t purposely stop him from couriering, not that you should put him back on the front,” Ikem said, almost bursting into Asa’s office. A part of Ikem wondered at this relationship with someone who was indirectly their employer and definitely their superior, but considering the fact that Asa didn’t seriously get mad at him anymore and responded to his snarks with the same level of bitchiness, he figured it didn’t matter. 

“Honestly, what makes you think I’m the only one who makes decisions around here?” Asa asked. “It wasn’t mine. I was outvoted.”

“It’s funny how, for all this talk of voting, I’ve never seen another council member,” Ikem said. 

Asa took a deep breath. And then another. And then another, and Ikem thought that Asa would be a great firebender, for how steady and deep those breaths were. 

“You do not see them,” Asa said slowly, “because you are a medic and not directly involved in the courier system.” 

“And these incredibly knowledgeable members decided to send Li back out to the front?” Ikem asked. 

“It’s something called we’re understaffed and overworked,” Asa said and Ikem sensed the beginnings of a rant. He took a seat. “It’s honestly nice that a lot of people like us, but they’re all people who can’t fund us. The military and government don’t give a shit about us, and think that we don’t need to be funded more because to them, couriering is as easy as dropping off a letter to your neighbor. They don’t understand fundamental things. like knowing troop movements is important to make sure that couriers aren’t _killed_.” 

“You might want to keep your voice down,” Ikem suggested. 

Asa paused and nodded a slight thanks. 

“Li shouldn’t have been couriering at ten,” Asa said. “He shouldn’t be couriering now. He shouldn’t have ever gone to the front, and in my opinion, no child ever should. But age doesn’t matter when it comes to success and when it comes to a career where the fatality is high. Li is first and foremost _useful_ , not a child, because he’s been able to reach troops in areas that were high risk and that’s invaluable. I only managed to keep him from returning to the front for so long because I told him he needed to adjust in order to be most effective.”

Asa let out a long sigh. “Politics are every-fucking-where, Noren, and maybe it seems like I have a lot of power, but it’s barely enough to actually make an effect.” 

Ikem winced. Politics. Agni, he hated those. 

“Sorry,” he said, genuine regret seeping through. Asa looked confused. “When I first met you, I thought you were an arrogant dick, and then an asshole. You’re a lot more decent than I first gave you credit for. 

Asa snorted. “You were an army doctor,” they said, as if that was an explanation. “ And to be fair, you’re also a lot more decent than I expected.”

“Oh?”

“Sometimes, when army doctors return, they don’t realize that their patients aren’t soldiers,” Asa said, “nor that some are literal children. Nor that this isn’t a battlefield and it’s encouraged to actually use anesthesia.”

Ikem winced and then frowned. “That has to be a violation.” 

“In order for a violation to occur, there needs to be someone to investigate it,” Asa said. “And that requires people. Staff. Funding. Resources in general. Which, of course,” Asa continued in a lower tone of voice, “goes to the military.”

Ikem frowned. “How do you pay your couriers higher wages, then?”

“First, it’s not like having a wage higher than a soldier’s is hard,” Asa said, rolling their eyes. “Besides, we need to attract new couriers somehow. A bunch of systems would collapse without us.”

“Doesn’t that mean you have fewer net couriers, though?” Ikem asked. “Since you have a limited fund?”

“Bingo,” Asa said. “Thus even more incentive to use Li.” 

“So politics suck,” Ikem said and Asa snorted. 

“They do indeed,” they said. “Now—”

“Get out of your office, I know,” Ikem said, and left before Asa could say anything else. 

&&&

Considering the fact that Zuko wasn’t exactly feeling well enough to travel in the trees, to the point that he almost stumbled multiple times and he definitely made more noise than he used to, it was surprisingly easy to slip past the Fire Nation troops on the front. It was also surprisingly easy to avoid them and the numerous Earth Kingdom troops as he passed further into Earth Kingdom territory. 

It was surprisingly easy, but Zuko didn’t call it _too_ easy. If it had been too easy, then the familiar stutter that his heart suffered so often wouldn’t have been back, and he wouldn’t have felt the burn that came from straining his muscles and body perhaps too much. Zuko didn’t like pain, but there was a grim satisfaction in feeling it: the pain meant that this wasn’t easy, that this was _real_.

He only looked back once. By then, he couldn’t even make out the makeshift Fire Nation border. 

Zuko’s heart really started to palpitate then, and as dots flew over his vision, Zuko wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have waited until he got a _bit_ better. 

_No,_ he thought as he gulped down air slowly and as the dots fled. _No, I’ve waited enough_. 

And he really didn’t have any time to waste. He was still fast—the fact that he could make this journey was a testament to that—but he wasn’t as fast as he was before. Which meant the little time he could have spent resting if he had been uninjured were gone to make sure that he returned to the Fire Nation quick enough to avoid alerting suspicion. 

After looking around to make sure that he was truly alone, Zuko quickly changed, taking off his courier’s uniform until he was left in the dark clothes he had been wearing underneath. It wasn’t the best for blending into foliage or into a crowd, but Zuko was always better at hiding in the shadows than in plain sight. 

With great reluctance, Zuko kept his jika-tabi on. He hated having his feet restricted, and jika-tabi had a distinctive tread that was too easily matched with the Fire Nation, but Zuko planned on travelling through the trees for the most part, and he would need their grip with that. Besides, his feet were still mostly raw, and he didn’t even have a pair of waraji to protect them. 

He placed his uniform in the bag and took out instead a grinning blue and white mask. The Dark Water Spirit stared up at him, and Zuko, for a moment, paused. He could just use part of his uniform as a cloth to cover his face, or stay out of sight. It would be less conspicuous than the mask, at least. 

But the Earth Kingdom played _Love Amongst the Dragons_ too, and Zuko couldn’t rely completely on his own skill anymore. He had to plan for the possibility of someone seeing his face, and it would be with a mask that he would be safest then. 

The mask was too big for him and Zuko was regretting wearing his glasses underneath the mask, as it pressed against his burn scar uncomfortably. He did like having a better field of vision though, so he just ignored it. It covered his face and didn’t hinder his sight. It did the job, and it was time that Zuko did his. 

It was time to find the Deserters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Kaijin - Japanese word that means ashes, complete destruction, and embers according to the sites I looked at.  
> \- Sake - alcoholic beverage  
> \- Waraji - Japanese footwear that was standard among commoners. From what I read, it was more useful for manual work than other footwear (because it was secured around the ankle rather than solely being like sandals).  
> \- Jika-tabi - another form of Japanese footwear. Was and continues to be useful for its grip and flexibility of the soles. 
> 
> Fun fact: the programs that Mio mentions that use children include the Yuyan Archers.
> 
> So I don't have an update schedule, but just so you know, this series will be my primary wip until I reach the show's events (aang getting out of the iceberg, etc.). So after I finish the next work, there's going to be a big gap as I write other fic and plot out exactly what happens next (like I have scenes and general plotlines, but there are things I'm on the fence on, like having Lu Ten be dead). 
> 
> The next work will be focusing on some more outside POV characters, and there are already three (wait maybe four now that I'm thinking about it) POVs that are going to appear, but does anyone have an interest in seeing Lin, Meiling, and Cheng (the people who brought Zuko to the front in the first place) again? Or if there is another minor character that isn't seen much that you'd like to have a POV from? (The only other person fitting this that I can think of now is Captain Lao). I might bring these characters back anyways if I get invested, but I wanted to see if anyone had a particular interest in them. 
> 
> Next chapter, we're going to meet Jeong Jeong!! I'm not going to say a word about the length because I was like "oh ch 2 will be short" and then I had to split it into two chapters, both of which almost total 30k. Anyways, if anyone knows good fics or meta about Jeong Jeong, please rec them because I don't want to make him ooc. 
> 
> Props to you if you read through all of that! I personally struggled a lot with this chapter and only managed to finish editing it by sheer force of will. I'm not very satisfied with it, so if you enjoyed it, kudos and comments (even if they're just heart emojis or "kudos") are very appreciated. I'm going to actually try and respond to comments quicker, but if you want a sure way that I'll respond within a decent time frame (or if you just want to chat ig) I'm @mag026 on tumblr! Anyways, have a nice day and see you next time!


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